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,kt air. like a small cloud of calico and dry corn-stalks." -Page (15. 







THE WIDOW RUGBY’S HUSBAND; 

A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S, ETC., 

BY CAPTAIN SIMON SUGGS. 



And the next minit the Dutchman and his organ was the wost mixed up pile of 
rags and splinters you ever seen in one mud-hole.” Page 50. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

A. HART, Late CAREY & HART 


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THE 


WIDOW RUGBY’S HUSBAND, 

A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S, 

AND 

OTHER TALES OF ALABAMA. 

BY JOHNSON J. HOOPER, 

AUTHOR OP ^‘ADVENTURES OP CAPT. SIMON SUGGS.” 


Hnflrabfnfljf from ©Hjjfnal JSesfgns bg IHUfott. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

A. HART, LATE CAREY & HART. 

126 CHESTNUT STREET. 

1851 . 



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in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States, in and for the 
Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 



E. b! MEAR.S, STEREOTVPF.R. T. K. i F. G. COLI.IXS, FRINTERS. 


c 

• « 
• • « 




A. B. MEEK, Esq., 


THESE SKETCHES 

ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, 
BY HIS FRIEND, 


The Author 


A •s 












CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

THE WIDOW RUGBY’S HUSBAND . . . .17 

CAPT. STICK AND TONEY . . . ; . 32 

DICK M’COY’S SKETCHES OF HIS NEIGHBOURS . . 35 

A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S .... 41 

THE MUSCADINE STORY 62 

THE BAILIFF THAT « STUCK TO HIS OATH” . . 64 

JIM BELL’S REVENGE 71 

MRS. JOHNSON’S POST OFFICE CASE ... 80 

A FAIR OFFENDER 83 

A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER . ’ . . 87 

JIM WILKINS AND THE EDITORS . \ . .97 

COL. HAWKINS AND THE COURT . . .102 

THE ERASIVE SOAP MAN 109 

CAPTAIN M’SPADDEN, THE IRISH GENTLEMAN IN 

PURSHUTE OF A SCHULE . ' . . .112 

THE ELEPHANT IN LAFAYETTE . . . .121 

THE DIRTIKEN 125 

AN INVOLUNTARY MEMBER OF THE TEMPERANCE 

SOCIETY 133 

A LEGISLATIVE ELECTION . . . .137 


( 7 ) 


Vlll 


CONTENTS, 


PAGE 

AN ALLIGATOK STORY .140 

THE RES GESTiB A POOR JOKE . . . .142 

OUR GRANNY .146 

THE GOOD MUGGINS . . . . . 151 

JEMMY OWEN ON THE SENATORIAL ELECTION . 156 

MONTGOMERY CHARACTERS ... 160 

1 


t 


i ' 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER Erontispiece. 

‘‘and the next 'thing, soinethin' riz in the air, like a smaU cloud of calico 
and dry cornstalks I” 

A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S Title page. 

“ and with that, I fetched the monkey a sling that sent him a whirlin’ 
about sixty yards over a hrick wall.” 

CAPTAIN SUGGS, BETSY, AN’ SHERIPP ELLIS .... Page 62 

“ The canoe shot ten feet out from the tree, and the sheriff was left dan- 
gling among the vines I” 

THE PAIR OPPENDER AND THE LAWYER 84 

“ I suppose its some badness they’ve sworn agin me.” 

CAPTAIN M’SPADDEN, THE IRISH GENTLEMAN IN PURSHUTE OP 


A SCHULE . . ' 112 

THE RES GESTiE A POOR JOKE 144 


“ I jist wanted to know what’s the name of that harry thing in your hand, 
that I thought you said was a res jesty.” 




THE WIDOW RUGBY’S HUSBAND ; 


A STORY OF « SUGGS.” 

Some ten or twelve years agone, one Sumeral Den- 
nis kept the «« Union Hotel,” at the seat of justice of 
the county of Tallapoosa. The house took its name 
from the complexion of the politics of its proprietor; 
he being a true-hearted Union man, and opposed — as I 
trust all my readers are — at all points, to the damnable 
heresy of nullification. In consequence of the candid 
exposition of his political sentiments upon his sign- 
board, mine host of the Union was liberally patronized 
by those who coincided with him in his views. In 
those days, party spirit was, in that particular locality, 
exceedingly bitter and proscriptive ; and had SumeraPs 
chickens been less tender, his eggs less impeachable, 
his coffee more sloppy, the “ Union Hotel” would still 
have lost no guest — its keeper no dimes. But, as Den- 
nis was wont to remark, “ the party relied on his ho- 
nour ; and as an honest man — but more especially as 
an honest Union man — he was bound to give them the 
value of their money.” Glorious fellow, was Sumeral ! 
Capital landlady, was his good wife, in all the plenitude 
of her embonpoint! Well-behaved children, too, were 
SumeraPs — from the shaggy and red-headed represent- 
2 * ( 17 ) 


18 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 


ative of paternal peculiarities, down to little Solomon 
of the sable locks, whose “ favour” puzzled the neigh- 
bours, and set at defiance all known physiological prin- 
ciples. Good people, all, were the Dennises ! May a 
hungry man never fall among worse ! 

Among the political friends who had for some years 
bestowed their patronage, semi-annually, during Court 
week, upon the proprietor of the “ Union,” was Captain 
Simon Suggs, whose deeds of valour and of strategy 
are not unknown to the public. The captain had put 
up” with our friend Sumeral, time and again — had 
puffed the ‘‘ Union,” both “before the face and behind 
the back” of its owner, until it seemed a miniature of 
the microcosm that bears the name of Astor — and, iri 
short, was so generally useful, accommodating, and 
polite, that nothing short of long-continued and oft- 
repeated failures to settle his bills, could have induced 
Sumeral to consider Suggs in other light than as the 
best friend the “Union” or any other house ever had. 
But alas ! Captain Suggs had, from one occasion to 
another, upon excuses the most plausible, and with 
protestations of regret the most profound, invariably left 
the fat larder and warm beds of the Union without leav- 
ing behind the slightest pecuniary remuneration wdth 
Sumeral., For a long time the patient innkeeper bore 
the imposition with a patience that indicated some hope 
of eventual payment. But year in and year out, and 
the money did not come. Mrs. Dennis at length spoke 
out, and argued the necessity of a tavern-keeper’s col- 
lecting hi^ dues, if he was disposed to do justice to 
himself and feynily. 

“ Suggs is a nice man in his talk,” she said. “ No- 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 


19 


body can fault him, as far as that’s concerned ; but 
smooth talk never paid for flour and bacon and so 
she recommended to her leaner half that the <‘<>next 
summary measures should be adopted to secure 
the amount in which the captain was indebted to the 
“ Union Hotel.” 

Sumeral determined that his wife’s advice should be 
strictly followed ; for he had seen, time and again, that 
her suggestions had been the salvation of the establish- 
ment. 

« Hadn’t she kept him from pitchin’ John Seagrooves, 
neck and heels, out of the window’, for say in’ that nul- 
lification warnH treason, and John C. Calhoun warnH 
as bad as Benedict Arnold ! And hadn’t John been a 
good payin’ customer ever since } That was what he 
wanted to know!” 

The next session of the Circuit Court, after this pru- 
dent conclusion had been arrived at in Dennis’s mind 
— the Circuit Court, with all its attractions of criminal 
trials, poker-playing lawyers, political caucuses and 
possible monkey-shows — found Captain Suggs snugly 
housed at the “Union.” Time passed on swiftly for a 
week. The judge was a hearty, liquor-loving fellow, 
and lent the captain ten dollars, “ on sight.” The We- 
tumpka and Montgomery lawyers bled freely. In short 
everything went bravely on for the captain, until a man 
wuth small-pox pits and a faro-box came along. 
captain yielded to the temptation — yielded, with a $re- ; 
sentiment on his mind that he should be “ slain.” Tlie 
“tiger” was triumphant, and Suggs was left without a 
dollar ! , 

As if to give intensity to his distress, on the morn- 


20 THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 

ing after his losses at the faro bank, the friendly Clerk 
of the Court hinted to Suggs, that the* Grand Jury had 
found an indictment against him for gaming. Here 
was a dilemma! Not only out of funds, but obliged to 
decamp, before the adjournment of Court ! — obliged to 
lose all opportunity of redeeming his «« fallen fortunes,” 
by further plucking the greenhorns in attendance. 

‘‘ This here,” said Simon, “ is h — 1 ! h — 1 ! a mile 
and a quarter square, and fenced in all round ! What’s 
a reasonable man to do? Ain’t I been workin’ and 
strivin’ all for the best? Ain’t I done my duty ? Cuss 
that mahogany box? I wish the man that started it 
had had his head sawed off with a cross-cut, just afore 
he thought on’t I Now thar’s sense in short cards. All’s 
fair, and cheat and cheat alike is the order ; and the 
longest pole knocks down the persimmon ! But whar’s 
the reason in one of your d — d boxes, full of springs 
and the like, and the better no advantages, except now 
and then when he kin kick up a squabble, and the 
dealer'* s afeard of him! 

I’m for doin’ things on the squar. What’s a man 
without his honour? Ef natur give me a gift to beat a 
feller at ‘ old sledge’ and the like, it’s all right ! But 
whar’s the justice in a thing like farrer, that ain’t got 
but one side ! It’s strange what a honin’ I have for the 
cussed thing ! No matter how I make an honest rise, 
^’l^sure to ‘ buck it off’ at farrer. As my wife says, 
farfer'*s my hesettin* sin. It’s a weakness — a soft spot 
'=^t’s — a — a — let me see ! — it’s a way I’ve got of a 
runnin’ agin Providence ! But hello ! here’s Dennis.” 

WTen the ^inn-keeper walked up. Captain Suggs 
remarked to him, that there was a ‘‘little paper out. 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 21 

signed by Tom Garrett, in his official capacity^ that was 
calculated to hurt feelins,” if he remained in town ; 
and so he desired that his horse might be saddled and 
brought out. 

Sumeral replied to this by presenting to the captain 
a slip of paper containing entries of many charges 
against Suggs, and in favour of the Union Hotel. 

All right,” said Suggs ; I’ll be over in a couple 
of weeks, and settle.” 

Can’t wait ; want money to buy provisions ; ac- 
count been standing two years ; thirty-one dollars and 
fifty cents is money, these days,” said Dennis, with 
unusual firmness. 

« Blast your ugly face,” vociferated Suggs, Pll 
give you my note ! that’s enough amongst gentlemen, I 
suppose.” 

«« Hardly,” returned the inn-keeper, hardly: we 
want the cash ; your note ain’t worth the trouble of 
writin’ it.” 

“D — n you!” roared Suggs; «« d — n you for a bis- 
cuit-headed nullijier ! I’ll give you a mortgage on the 
best half section of land in the county ; south half of 
13 , 21 , 29 !” 

<< Captain Suggs,” said Dennis, drawing off his coat, 
« you’ve called me a nullifier, and that^s what I won^t 
stand from no man ! Strip, and I’ll whip as much dog 
out of you as ’ll make a full pack of hounds! You 
swindling robber!” 

This hostile demonstration alarmed the captain, and 
he set in to soothe his angry landlord. 

“ Sum, old fel !” he said, in his most honeyed tones : 
“ Sum, old fel ! be easy. I’m not a fightin’ man” — 


22 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 


and here Suggs drew himself up with dignity ; ‘‘ Fm 
not a fightin’ man, except in the cause of my country ! 
Thar Fm allerg found ! Come old fellow — do you 
reckon ef you ’d been a nullifier, Pd ever been ketched 
at your house ! No, no ! You ainH no part of a nulli- 
fier, but you are reether hard down on your Union 
friends that allers puts up with you. Say, won’t you 
take that mortgage — the land’s richly worth $1,000 — 
and let me have old Bill ?” 

The heart of Dennis was melted at the appeal thus 
made. It was to his good fellowship and his party feel- 
ings. So, putting on his coat, he remarked, that he 
rather thought he would take the mortgage. How- 
ever,” he added, seeing Mrs. Dennis standing at the 
door of the tavern watching his proceedings, he would 
see his wife about it.” 

The captain and Dennis approached the landlady of 
the Union, and made known the state of the case. 

“ You see, cousin Betsey” — Suggs always cousined 
any lady whom he wished to cozen — «« you see, cousin 
Betsy, the fact is, Fm down, just now, in the way of 
money, and you and Sumeral bein’ afraid I’ll run away 

and never come back ” 

«« Taint that Pm afraid of,” said Mrs. Dennis. 

What then ?” asked Suggs. 

« Of your cornin’ back, eatin’ us out o’ house and 
home, and never payird nothin'^ P 

Well,” said the Captain, slightly confused at the 
lady’s directness ; « well, seein’ that’s the way the mule 
kicks, as I was sayin’, I proposed to Sum here, as long 
as him and you distrusts an old Union friend that’s stuck 
by your house like a tick, even when the red-mouthed 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 23 

nullifiers swore you was feedin’ us soap-tails on bull-beef 
and blue collards — I say, as long as that’s the case, I 
propose to give you a mortgage on the south half of 21, 
13, 29. It’s the best half section in the county, and it’s 
worth forty times the amount of your bill.” 

It looks like that ought to do,” said Sumeral, who 
was grateful to the captain for defending his house 
against the slanders of the nullifiers; and seein’ that 
Suggs has always patronized the Union and voted the 
whole ticket ” 

“ Never split in my life,” dropped in Suggs, with 
emphasis. 

“I,” continued Dennis, am for takin the mortgage 
and lettin’ him take old Bill and go ; for I know it 
would be a satisfaction to the nullifiers to have him put 
in jail.” 

Yes,” quoth the captain, sighing, I’m about to be 
tuk up and made a martyr of, on account of the Union, 
but I’ll die true to my prin5^j^ples, d — d if I don’t.” 

<< They shanH take you,” said Dennis, his long lank 
form stiffening with energy as he spoke ; as long as 
they put it on that hook, d — d ef they shall ! Give us 
the mortgage and slope !” 

«« Thar’s a true-hearted Union man,” exclaimed 
Suggs, «« that’s not got a drop of pizen of treason in his 
veins !” 

You ain’t got no rights to that land . . I jist know 
it — or you wouldn’t want to mortgage it for a tavern 
bill,” shouted Mrs. Dennis ; and I tell you and Sume- 
ral both^ that old Bill don’t go out of that stable till the 
money’s paid — mind I say money — into my hand and 


24 THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 

here the good lady turned off and called Bob, the stable 
boy, to bring her the stable key. 

The Captain and Sumeral looked at each other like 
two chidden school-boys. It was clear that no terms 
short of payment in money would satisfy Mrs. Dennis. 
Suggs saw that Dennis had become interested in his 
behalf ; so, acting upon the idea, he suggested : 

Dennis, suppose you loan me the money 

“ Egad, Suggs, Pve been thinking of that ; but as I 
have only a fifty dollar bill, and my wife’s key bein’ 
turned on that, there’s no chance. D — n it, I’m sorry 
for you.” 

“ Well the Lord’ll purvide,” said Suggs. 

As Captain Suggs could not get away that day, evi- 
dently, he arranged, through his friend Sumeral, wdth 
the Clerk not to issue a capias until the next afternoon. 
Having done this, he cast around for some way of rais- 
ing the wdnd ; but the fates were against him ; and at 
eleven o’clock that night, he went to bed in a fit of the 
blues that three pints of whiskey had failed to dissipate. 

An hour or two after the Captain had got between 
his sheets, and after every one else was asleep, he heard 
some one w^alk unsteadily, but still softly, up stairs. 
An occasional hiccup told that it was some fellow 
drunk ; and this was confirmed by a heavy fall which 
the unfortunate took as soon as, leaving the railing, he 
attempted to travel suis pedibus. 

Oh, good Lord 1” groaned the fallen man ; who’d 
a-thought it! Me, John P. Pullum, drunk and failin’ 
dowm 1 I never was so before. The world’s a-turnin’ 
over — a7id — over ! Oh, Lord I — Charley Stone got me 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 25 

into it! What will Sally say ef she hears it— oh, 
Lord !” 

That thar feller,” said the Captain to himself, is 
the victim of vice I I wonder ef he’s got any money ?” 
and the Captain continued his soliloquy inaudibly. 

Poor Mr. Pullum, after much tumbling about and 
sundry repetitions of his fall, at length contrived to get 
into bed, in a room adjoining that occupied by the Cap- 
tain, and only separated from it by a thin partition. 
The sickening effects of his debauch increased, and the 
dreadful nausea was likely to cause him to make both 
a clean breast” and a clean stomach. 

‘‘I’m very — very — oh. Lord! — drunk! Oh, me, is 
this John P. Pullum that — good Heavens ! I’ll faint — 
married Sally Rugby ! — oh ! oh !” 

Here the poor fellow got out of bed, and, poking his 
head through a vacant square, in the window-sash, 
began his ejaculations of supper and of grief. 

“Ah! I’m so weak! — wouldn’t have Sally — aw — 
owh — wha — oh. Lord ! — to hear of it for a hundred dol- 
lars. She said — it’s cornin’ agin — awh — ogh — who — 
0 — o-gracious Lord, how sick! — she said when she 
agreed for me to sell the cotton, I’d be certain — oh. 
Lord, I believe I’ll die !” 

The inebriate fell back on his bed, almost fainting, 
and Captain Suggs thought he’d try an experiment. 

Disguising his voice, with his mouth close to the 
partition, he said : 

“You’re a liar! you didn’t marry Widow Rugby; 
you’re some d — d thief tryin’ to pass off for something !” 

“ Who am I then, if I ain’t John P. Pullum that mar- 
ried the widow, Sally Rugby, Tom Rugby’s widow, old 
3 


26 THE WIDOW EUGBY’S HUSBAND. 

Bill Stearns’s only daughter ? Oh, Lord, if it ain’t me, 
who is it ? Where’s Charley Stone — can’t he tell if it’s 
John P. Pullum ?” 

‘‘No, it ain’t you, you lyin’ swindler — you ain’t got 
a dollar in the world — and never married no rich 
widow,” said Suggs, still disguising his voice. 

“ I did — Fll be d — d ef I didn’t — I know it now : 
Sally Rugby with the red head — all of the boys said I 
married her for her money, but it’s a — oh, Lord, Pm 
sick again — augh !” 

Mr. Pullum continued his maudlin talk, half asleep, 
half awake, for some time ; and all the while Captain 
Suggs was analyzing the man — conjecturing his pre- 
cise circumstances — his family relations — the probable 
state of his purse, and the like. 

“ It’s a plain case,” he mused, “ that this feller mar- 
ried a red-headed widow for her money — no man ever 
married sich for anything else. It’s plain agin, she’s 
got the property settled upon her, or fixed some way, 
for he talked about her ‘ agreein’ for him to sell the cot- 
ton. I’ll bet that he’s the new feller that’s dropped in 
down thar by Tallassee, that Charley Stone used to 
know. And I’ll bet he’s been down to Wetumpky to 
sell the cotton — got on a bust thar — and now’s on an- 
other here. — He’s afraid of his wife, too ; leastways, his 
voice trimbled like it, when he called her red-headed, 
Pullum ! Pullum ! Pull-um !” Here Suggs studied — 
“ That’s surely a Talbot county name — I’ll ventur’ on 
it, any how.” 

Having reached a conclusion, the Captain turned 
over in bed, and composed himself to sleep. 

At nine o’clock the next morning, the bar-room of 


TJIE VfIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 27 

the Union contained only Dennis and our friend the 
Captain. Breakfast was over, and the most of the tem- 
porary occupants of the tavern were on the public 
square. Captain Suggs was watching for Mr. Pullum, 
who had not yet come down to breakfast. 

At length an uncertain step was heard on the stair- 
way, and a young man, whose face showed indisputable 
evidence of a frolic on the previous night, descended. 
His eyes were bloodshot, and his expression was a 
mingled one of shame and fear. 

Captain Suggs walked up to him, as he entered the 
bar-room, gazed at his face earnestly, and, slowly plac- 
ing his hand on his shoulder, as slowly, and with a stern 
expression, said : 

«« Your — name— is — Pullum !” 

I know it is,” said the young man. 

“ Come this way, then,” said Suggs, pulling his vic- 
tim out into the street, and still gazing at him with the 
look of a stern but affectionate parent. Turning to 
Dennis, as they went out, he said ; “ Have a cup of cof- 
fee ready for this young man in fifteen minutes, and his 
horse by the time he’s done drinking it!” 

Mr. Pullum looked confounded, but said nothing, and 
he and the Captain walked over to a vacant blacksmith 
shop, across the street, where they could be free from 
observation. 

' «« You’re from Wetumpky last,” remarked Suggs, 
with severity, and as if his words charged a crime. 

«« What if I am ?” replied Pullum, with an effort to 
appear bold. 

What’s cotton worth ?” asked the Captain, with an 
almost imperceptible wink. 


28 


THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 


Pullum turned white, and stammered put : 

“ Seven or eight cents.” 

«« Which will you tell your wife you sold yours — hers 
— for.?” 

John P. turned blue in the face. 

What do you know about my wife he asked. 

« Never mind about that — was you in the habit of 
gettin’ drunk befoje you left Talbot county, Georgy?” 

“ I never lived in Talbot ; I was born and raised in 
Harris,” said Pullum, with something like triumph. 

“ Close to the line though,” rejoined Suggs, confi- 
dently, relying on the fact that there w’as a large family 
of Pullums in Talbot; “ most of your connexions lived 
in Talbot.” 

“ Well, what of all that?” asked Pullum, wdth impa- 
tience : “ what is it to you w^har I come from, or whar 
my connexion lived ?” 

«« Never mind — Fll show you — no man that married 
Billy Stearns’s daughter, can carry on the way you^ve 
been doin’, without my interferin’ for the int’rust of the 
family !” 

Suggs said this with an earnestness, a sternness, that 
completely vanquished Pullum. He tremulously asked ; 

“ How did you know that I married Stearns’s daugh- 
ter ?” 

That’s a fact ’most anybody could a known that 
was intimate wdth the family in old times. You’d bet- 
ter ask how I knowed that you tuk your wife’s cotton to 
Wetumpky — sold it — got on a spree — after Sally give 
you a caution too — and then come by here — got on 
another spree. What do you reckon Sally will say to 
you when you git home ?” • 


THE WIDOW rugby’s husband. 29 

She won’t know it,” replied Pullum, «« unless some- 
body tells her.” 

Somebody will tell her,” said Suggs ; Vm going 
home with you as soon as you’ve had breakfast. My 
poor Sally Rugby shall not be trampled on in this way. 
I’ve only got to borrow fifty dollars from some of the 
boys to make out a couple of thousand I need to make 
the last payment on my land. So go over and eat your 
breakfast, quick.” 

<<For God’s sake, sir, don’t tell Sally about it; you 
don’t know how unreasonable she is.” 

Pullum was the incarnation of misery. 

<‘The devil I don’t! She bit this piece out of my 
face” — here Suggs pointed to a scar on his cheek — 

when I had her on my lap, a little girl only five years 
old. She was always game.” 

Pullum grew more nervous at this reference to his 
wife’s mettle. 

“ My dear sir, I don’t even know your name — ” 

< Suggs, sir, Capt. Simon Suggs.” 

« Well, my dear Captain, ef you’ll jist let me off this 
time. I’ll lend you the fifty dollars.” 

“ YouHl — lend — me — the — ffty — dollars ! Who 
asked you for your money — or rather Sally^s money 

I only thought,” replied the humble husband of 
Sally, “that it might be 'an accommodation. I meant 
no harm ; I know Sally 'wouldn’t mind my lending it to 
an old friend of the family.” 

“ Well,” said Suggs, and here he mused, shutting 
his eyes, biting his lips, and talking very slowly, “ ef I 
knowed you would do better.” 

“I’ll swear I will,” said Pullum. 


30 THE WIDOW rugby’s HUSBAND. 

“No sw’earin’, sir!” roared Suggs, with a dreadful 
frown ; “ no swearin’ in my presence !” 

“No, sir, I won’t any more.” 

“ Ef,” continued the Captain, “ I knowed you’d do 
better — go right — (the Captain didn’t wish Pul- 

lum to stay where his stock of inform'ation might be 
increased) — and treat Sally like a wife all the rest of 
your days, I might, may borrow the fifty, (seein’ it’s 
Sally’s, any way,) and let you off this time.” 

“ Ef you will. Captain Suggs, I’ll never forget you — 
I’ll think of you all the days of my life.” 

“I ginnally makes my mark, so that I’m hard to for- 
get,” said the Captain, truthfully, “ Well, turn me 
over a fifty for a couple of months, and go home.” 

Mr. Pullum handed the money to Suggs, who seemed 
to receive it reluctantly. He twisted the bill in his 
fingers, and remarked : 

“ I reckon I’d better not take this money — you won’t 
go home, and do as you said.” 

“Yes, I will,” said Pullum; “yonder’s my horse at 
the door — I’ll start this minute.” 

The Captain and Pullum returned to the tavern, 
where the latter swallowed his coffee and paid his bill. 

As the young man mounted his horse, Suggs took 
him affectionately by the hand — 

“ John,” said he, “ go home, give my love to cousin 
Sally^ and kiss her for me. Try and do better, John, 
for the futur’ ; and if you have any children, John, bring 
’em up in the way of the Lord. Good by I” 

Captain Suggs now paid his bill, and had a balance 
on hand. He immediately bestrode his faithful “ Bill,” 
musing thus as he moved homeward : 


THE WIDOW rugby's HUSBAND. 31 

«« Every day I git more insight into scriptur’. It used 
to be I couldn’t understand the manna in the wilder- 
ness, and the ravens feedin’ Elishy ; now, it’s clear to 
my eyes. Trust in Providence — that’s the lick ! Here 
was I in the wilderness, sorely oppressed, and mighty 
nigh despar. Pullum come to me, like a « raven,’ in 
my distress — and di fat one, at that! Well, as I’ve 
alters said. Honesty and Providence will never fail to 
fetch a man out ! Jist give me that for a hand^ and I’ll 
« stand’ agin all creation!” 


CAPT. STICK AND TONEY. 


Old Capt. Stick was a remarkably precise old gen- 
tleman, and a conscientiously just man. He was, too, 
very methodical in his habits, one of which was to 
keep an account in writing of the conduct of his ser- 
vants, from day to day. It was a sort of account-cur- 
rent, and he settled by it every Saturday afternoon. 
No one dreaded these hebdomadal balancings, more 
than Toney, the boy of all-work, for the Captain was 
generally obliged to write a receipt, for a considerable 
amount, across his shoulders. 

One settling afternoon, the Captain, accompanied by 
Tony, was seen toddling” down to the old stable, 
with his little account book in one hand, and a small 
rope in the other. After they had reached the ‘‘ Bar of 
Justice,” and Tony had been properly «« strung up,” 
the Captain proceeded to state his accounts as follows : 

Tony, Dr. 

Sabbath, to not half blacking my boots, &c., five 
stripes. 

Tuesday, to staying four hours at mill longer than 
necessary, ten stripes. 

Wednesday, to not locking the hall door at night, 
five stripes. 


( 32 ) 


CAPT. STICK AND TONEY. 33 

Friday, to letting the horse go without water, five 
stripes. 

Total, twenty-five stripes. 

Tony^ Cr. 

Monday', by first-rate day’s work in the garden, ten 
stripes. 

Balance due, fifteen stripes.” 

The balance being thus struck, the Captain drew his 
cow-hide and remarked — ‘‘Now, Tony, you black 
scamp, what say you, you lazy villain, why I shouldn’t 
"give you fifteen lashes across your back, as hard as I 
can draw .J*” 

“ Stop, old Mass,” said Tony ; “dar’s de work in de 
garden, sir — dat ought to tek off some.” 

“You black dog,” said the Captain, “ hav’nt I given 
you the proper credit of ten stripes, for that.^ Come, 
come !” 

“ Please old massa,” said Tony, rolling his eyes 
about in agony of fright — “ dar’s — you forgot — dar’s 
de scourin’ ob de floor — old missus say e nebber been 
scour as good before.” 

“ Soho, you saucy rascal,” quoth Captain Stick ; 
“ you’re bringing in more offsets, are you } Well now, 
there !” — here the Captain made an entry upon his book 
—“you have a credit of five stripes, and the balance 
must be paid.” 

“ Gor a mity, massa, don’t hit yet — dar’s sumpen else 
— oh, Lord! please don’t — yes, sir — got um now — 
ketchin’ de white boy and fetchin’ um to ole missus, 
what trow rock at de young duck.”‘ 

“ That’s a fact,” said the Captain — “the outrageous 
young vagabond — that’s a fact, and I’ll give you credit 


34 CAPT. STICK AND TONEY. 

of ten stripes for it — I wish you had brought him to me 
— now we’ll settle the balance.” 

Bress de Lord, ole massa,” said Tony, « daf^s 
Tony grinned extravagantly. 

The Captain adjusted his tortoise-shell .spectacles 
with great exactness, held the book close to his eyes ; 
and ascertained that the fact was as stated by Tony. 
He was not a little irritated : 

You swear off the ..account, you infernal rascal — 
you swear off the account, do you ?” 

“ All de credit is fair, old massa,” answered Tony. 

««Yes, but” — said the disappointed Captain — « but — 
but” — still the Captain was sorely puzzled how to give 
Tony a few licks any how — but” — an idea popped 
into his head — «« whereas my costs — you incorrigible, 
abominable scoundrel ? You want to swindle me, do 
you, out of my costs, you black, deceitful rascal?” 

And,” added Capt. Stick, chuckling as well at his 
own ingenuity as the perfect justice of the sentence ; 

I enter judgment against you for costs — ten stripes” 
— and forthwith administered the stripes and satisfied 
the judgment. 

««Ki nigger!” said Tony; “ki nigger! what dis 
judgmen for coss, ole massa talk ’bout. Done git off 
’bout not blackin’ de boot — git off ’bout stayin’ long 
time at de mill — and ebry ting else — but dis judgmen 
for coss gim me de debbil — Bress God, nigger must 
keep out ob de ole stable, or I’ll tell you what, dat 
judgmen^ for coss make e back feel mighty warm, for 
true !” 


DICK M’COY’S SKETCHES OF HIS NEIGH- 
BOUKS. • 

Last summer, I determined to visit the battle-ground 
of the Horse- ShoCy to see if any vestiges remained of 
Old Hickory^ s great fight with the Indians of the Tal- 
lapoosa. Fond of all sorts of aquatic diversion, I 
concluded to take the river four or five miles above, 
and descend to the « iS'Aoe,” and I therefore employed 
an old crony of mine, Dick M’Coy, to take me down 
in a canoe. Dick lives on the bank, and has all the 
qualifications of an otter, for river explocations. 

For some miles above the battle-ground, the river is 
a succession of shallows, broken every mile or two by 
lovely patches of smooth, still water, generally be- 
decked with a green islet or two, around which the 
trout love to play. The banks are generally large, 
irregular hills, that look as if they were struggling to 
pitch themselves, with their huge pines, into the 
stream ; but, once in a while, you find a level strip of 
alluvial in cultivation, or a beautiful and fertile decli- 
vity, shaded by magnificent poplars, beech-trees, and 
walnut. Now and then you may see the cabin of a 
squatter, stuck to the side of a hill, like a discharged 
tobacco-quid against a wall ; but, generally, .the Talla- 

■( 35 ) 


36 


i)icK m’coy’s sketches 


poosa retains the wild, pristine features of the days 
when the Creek hunted on its banks, or disported him- 
self upon its waters. A little way out from the river, 
on either side, among the “ hollows” formed by little 
creeks and smaller streams, live a people, half-agricul- 
tural, half-piscatorial — a sinewy, yellow-headed, whis- 
key-loving set. Those south of the river, are the 
inhabitants of ‘‘ ’Possum-Trot,” while those on the 
north are the citizens of ‘‘ Turpentine.” Dick M’Coy 
is a ’Possum-Trotter, a fishing fellow, fishy in his sto- 
ries, but always au fait in regard to matters of settle- 
ment gossip. 

Seated on a clap-board, a little aft of the centre of 
the boat, and facing Dick, I was amused for several 
hours with his conversation, as we threaded the intri- 
cate passages of the shoals, now whizzing by and 
barely touching an ugly rock, now spinning round in 
a little whirlpool, like a tee-totum. The skill of my 
Palinurus, however, seemed equal to any emergency ; 
and we alternately twisted and tumbled along, at the 
rate of two miles and a half an hour. 

As we came into a small, deep sheet of water, Dick 
pointed with his paddle to a smoke issuing from among 
the trees, on the “ Turpentine” side of the river, and 
remarked, “ Thar’s whar our lazy man lives — Seaborn 
Brown.” “ Ah, is he lazy much “ Powerful !” 
«« As how.?” “ Onct he went out huntin’, and he was 
so lazy he ’eluded he wouldn’t. So he laid down in 
the sand, close to the aidge of the water. It come on 
to rain like the devil, and ’I seen him from t’other side, 
tho’t he was asleep, and hollered to him — ses I, it’s 
rainin’ like wratb, Seab, and why don’t you git up .? Ses 


OP HIS NEIGHBOURS. 


37 

he, hollerin’ back — « I’m wet any how, and thar’s 
no use.’ After a little the river begun to rise about five 
foot an hour ; and I hollers to him agin — ses I, ‘ Seaborn, 
the river’s a-risin’ on to your gun ; the but’s half way 
in the water, now !’ Ses he, hollerin’ back, < The water 
ain’t gwine to hurt the wood part.’ I waited a few 
minutes, and sung out — « Seaborn, you’re half under 
water yourself, and your gun-lock is in the river !’ Ses 
he — ‘ I never ketches cold, and thar’s no load in the 
gun, and besides, she needs a washin’ out.’ And, 
’Squire,” continued Dick, « the last I seen of him that 
day, he tuck a flask out of his pocket, as he lay^ drinkt, 
kecht some water in the flask, and drinkt again, as he 
lay ; and then throw’ d his face back, this way, like, to 
keep the river out of his mouth and nose 

Amused at Dick’s anecdote of his lazy neighbour, I 
solicited some information about the occupant of a 
cabin nearly in the water, on the ’Possum Trot side. 
At the very door of the dwelling commenced a fish-trap 
dam ; and on the trap stood a stalwart fellow in a red 
flannel shirt, and pantaloons that were merely breeches 
— the legs being torn off entirely. “Who’s that?” I 
asked. “ Wait till we pass him, and I’ll tell you.” 
We tumbled onward a few yards. “ That’s Jim Ed- 
’ards ; he loves cat fish, some ! Well, he does ! Don’t 
do nothin’ but ketch ’em. Some of the boys says he’s 
got slimy all over, like unto a cat — don’t know about 
that ; all I know is, we ketcht one in the seine, that 
weighed over forty pounds. Thar was a moccasin tuk 
out of it longer than my arm. And nobody wouldn’t 
have it, then, but Jim. As we was goin’ home, Jim a 
totin’ the fish, ses I — Jim, you ain’t a gwine to eat that 
4 


38 


DICK m’COY’S sketches 


cat surety/ Ses he — ‘Pshaw! that moccasin warn’t 
nothin’ ; I noticed it good, and it warn‘t rotten a bitP 
Ses I — ‘Jim, enny man that’ll eat that cat, would eat 
a bullfrog.’ And with that, he knocked me down and 
liked to a killed me ; and that was the reason I didn’t 
want to tell you about him twell we’d passed him.” 

As we neared a pretty little island, on which were a 
house and two or three acres in cultivation, “ Thar,” said 
Dick, “ is Dock Norris’s settleme?i^. I guess he won’t 
^play horse^ agin in a hurry. He claims ’Possum Trot 
for his beat, but we’d all rather he’d take Turpingtine.” 
“ What game was that he played I asked. “ Oh! 
playin’ horse. See, thar was a crowd of boys come 
down and kamped on Turpingtine side, to seine. They 
was but a little ways from the river — leastways thar 
camp-fire was — and between the river and it, is a pretty 
knoll, whar the river’s left a pretty bed of white sand as 
big as a garden spot, and right at it the water’s ten foot 
deep, and it’s about the same from the top of the blufi* 
to the water. A big, one-eyed feller named Ben Ba- 
ker, was at the head of the town crowd, and as soon as 
they’d struck a camp, Ben and his fellers, except one 
(a lad like), tuck the seine and went away down the 
river, fishin’, and was gone a’most all day. Well, Dock 
bein’ of a sharp, splinter-legged, mink-face feller, gits 
some of his boys, and goes over in the time, and they 
drinks all Ben’s whiskey and most all his coffee, and 
eats up all his bacon-meat — ’sides bein’ sassy to the 
boy. Arter a while here comes Ben and his kump’ny, 
back, wet and tired, and hungry. The boy told ’em 
Dock Norris and his crowd had eat and drunk up eve- 
rything, and Ben’s one eye shined like the ev’ning star. 


OP HIS NEIGHBOURS. 


39 


‘‘ Whar’s he?” axed Ben ; and then he turned round 
and seed Dock and his boys, on thar all-fours, squealin’ 
and rearin’, playin'^ horse, they called it, in that pretty 
sandy place. Ben went right in amongst ’em, and ses 
he, ««ril play horse, too,” and then he came down to 
his all-fours, and here they had it, round and round, 
rearin’, pitchin’, and cavortin’! Dock was might’ly 
pleased that Ben didn’t seem mad ; but bime-by, Ben 
got him close to the bank, and then, in a minute, ge- 
thered him by the seat of his bi;eeches and the har of 
the head, and slung him twenty foot out in the current. 
About the time Dock ris, Ben had another of the crowd 
harnessed, and he throw’d him at Bock! Then he 
pitched another, and so on, twell he’d thrown ’em all 
in. You oughter ’a seen ’em swim to the shoals and 
take that bee-line for home 1” Why didn’t they turn 
on him and thrash him ?” I asked. Oh, you see he 
was a great big fellow, weighed two hundred, and was 
as strong as a yoke of, oxen ; and you know, ’squire, 
most of the people is mighty puny-like, in the Trot, 
Well, p/ayin’ horse got broke up after that.” 

When the next clearing came into view, I inquired 
of M’Coy, whose it was. ^^Bon^t you know, ’squire? 
Aint you never seen him ? Why, it’s old Bill Wallis’s 
place, and he’s our ugly man! The whole livin’, 
breathin’ yeth ain’t got the match to his picter ! His 
mouth is split every way, and turned wrong-side out, 
and when he opens it, it’s like spreadin’ an otter trap 
to set it. The skin’s constant a-pealin’ from his nose, 
and his eyes looks like they was just stuck on to his 
face with pins ! He’s got hardly any skin to shet his 
eyes with, and not a sign of har to that little ! His 


40 DICK M’COY’S sketches of Ills NEIGHBOURS. 

years is like a wolf’s, and his tongue’s a’most allers 
bangin’ out of his mouth ! His whole face looks like it 
was half-roasted! Why, he’s obleeged to stay ’bout 
home ; the nabor women is all afraid their babies ’ill be 
like him I” 

Just after this last story, we reached a fall of two 
feet, over which Dick’s plan was to descend bow-fore- 
most, with a ca-souse,” as he expressed it. But we 
ran upon a rock, the current swayed us round, and 
over we went, broad-side. This is an ugly scrape,' 
Dick,” said I, as soon as we got ashore. “ Yes, ’squire, 
but not as ugly as old Wallis; thar’s nuthin but deth 
can eekal him. Howsever, less leave bailin’ the boat 
twell mornin’, and go and stay wdth old Billy to-night, 
and then you’ll see for yourself.” So, instead of sleep- 
ing at the Horse-shoe, we spent the night with old Billy 
and his folks ; and we had a rare time there, I assure 
you. 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 


In a previous sketch, I mentioned that my friend, 
Dick M’Coy, and myself, were brought to a sudden 
halt, on our ‘‘ voyage” to the.Horse Shoe, by the capsiz- 
ing of our boat ; and I further mentioned, that we deter- 
mined, as it was late, to attempt no further progress that 
day, but to stop until next morning at the house of Old 
Bill Wallis, the Ugly Man. In accordance with this 
plan, we bailed the boat and made her fast to a tree on 
the “ Turpingtine” side of the river, and commenced 
our walk. 

Adown the rugged, pine-bearing slope of the hill, on 
the top of which the Ugly Man’s residence was situated, 
trickled a slender streamlet, pure and sparkling, like a 
single tear coursing down the rough cheek of manhood. 
Merrily it leaped along between its tiny moss margins 
— mere strips of green velvet — tumbling over miniature 
ledges, and humming forth a tender, complaining sound 
— the faint, delicate echo, of a fairy chime ! Stout pop- 
lars and white oaks, at intervals just sufficient to give 
good sport to the far-jumping gray-squirrels, attested 
the fertilizing power of the little rill, which the dark 
intertwining roots seemed striving to grasp — but the 
streamlet glided through like a silver eel, and kept its 
downward way, chanting, scarce audibly, its jocund 
4 * ( 41 ) 


42 A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 

melody. A snowy sheen of dogwood blooms marked 
its course ; and winding beneath these, ran a path 
leading to the humble cabin we were about to visit. 

This here’s Old Bill’s spring branch ; he lives up 
there a leetle to the left said my companion. A few 
more strides brought us to the premises of The Til-Fa- 
voured ! 

The cabin was perched on the hill, within twenty 
yards of a beautiful spring — welling up through the 
whitest sand and bursting through rock and moss — that 
supplies the little stream I have described. It was a 
rough log building. Around it was a low rail fence, 
enclosing a white and well-swept yard. A dozen 
clumps of purple altheas and common roses are grow- 
ing and blooming in front of the house ; while a luxu- 
riant cypress vine, with its mimosa-like foliage and 
brilliant red flowers, clambered around the door, and 
emulously strove to overspread the roof. On the fence, 
a huge gobbler, with his meek-looking mate, had gone 
to their early roost. A dozen fowls clustered on the 
top of the ash-gum^ and the projecting corners of the 
smolce-house. These, at the first glance, were all the 
signs that indicated inhabited premises. Huge, melan- 
choly pines reared themselves gloomily on all sides, 
except in front — there, the little spring was in view, 
with the oasis its waters had made — the green line of 
oak and poplar, with its under-fringe of creamy flowers, 
winding down the hill — and still further down, the river 
whirling and frothing along to the south-west. 

As we stepped over the low fence, I heard the hum 
of a spinning-wheel, and in another moment one of the 
sweetest, rosiest faces I ever beheld, looked out at the 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 43 

door. It was Lucy Wallis, the pretty daughter of the 
Ugly Man ! Saluting us modestly, she asked us in — 
and to be seated — and resumed her work. There be 
few more lovely girls than Lucy. In her moist blue 
eye, was a blended expression of mirthfulness and 
something more tender, that went into your heart with- 
out ever asking leave. Clad in a homespun frock, 
coarse, but tasteful in its colours and adjustment — and 
oh ! how brilliantly spotless — her fingers tipped with 
the blue of the indigo tub — her little feet in buckskin 
moccasins — she plied her task industriously ; now, with 
an arch toss, shaking into place her rich auburn hair, 
and now, with a bound forward, gracefully catching 
the thread that had slipped from her fingers. Sweet- 
voiced, too, was Lucy Wallis, as she stood at her wheel, 
spinning two threads, one of cotton on her spindle, and 
the other of gossip, with my excellent and loquacious 
friend Dick M’Coy. 

Plague take the girl ! She has made me forget her 
ugly father ! Mr. Wallis and his ‘‘ old woman” were 
from home when we got there — having been on a visit 
to a sick neighbour — but in half an hour they returned. 

« Thar they come,” said Dick, as he heard voices 
outside the cabin ; « seat yourself, and don’t be scared !” 
Then Dick looked at Lucy. 

«« You’ve never seen daddy, ’squire — have you.^” she 
asked, slightly colouring and pouting. 

«« Never have — always had a curiosity” — but the 
wounded expression of the girl stopped me, and in 
another moment, the Ugly Man was before me. 

Truly had M’Coy said, nothing on the breathin’ 
yearth can match him 1” His face, generally, had the 


44 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN'S. 


appearance of a recently healed blister spot. His pro- 
minent eyes seemed ready to drop from off his face, 
and were almost guiltless of lids. Red, red, red, was 
the all-prevailing colour of his countenance — even his 
eyes partook of it. His mouth — ruby-red — looked as 
if it had been very lately kicked by a roughly-shod 
mule, after having been originally made by gouging a 
hole in his face with a nail-grab ! The tout ensemble 
was horribly, unspeakably ugly! And yet, in the 
expre.ssion of the whole was legible proof of the pater- 
nity of his lovely daughter ! • 

« So you’ve come to see old Ugly Mug — have you, 
’squire ? I’ve hearn of you before. You’re the man as 
took the sensers of this country, last time. I was in 
Georgy then. Well, you’re mighty welcome! Old 
’oman, fly around, git somethin’ for the ’squire and 
Dick to eat ! Lucy, ain’t you got no fresh aiggs 

Lucy went out at this suggestion, and her father 
went on : 

« They call me ugly,. ’squire ; and I am ; my father 
was before me the ugliest man that ever lived in Han- 
cock county. But I’ll give you my ixperance after 
supper. Belikes you’ve hearn that I’ve been through 
the ruffs. No.^ Well, when we git something down 
our bellies. I’ll tell you all about it. Old ’oman, for 
God’s sake, do fly around thar I” 

The old lady did ‘‘fly around,” and Lucy got the 
“ aiggs,” and between them, they got a most excellent 
supper. The purity of the table-cloth, the excellence 
of the coffee, and the freshness of the eggs, not to men- 
tion Lucy’s good loqks, were more than a set-off against 
the ugliness of old Billy ; so that Dick and I continued 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 45 

to eat quite heartily, to the evident gratification of our 
hospitable, though ugly entertainer. 

Supper over, old Bill drew out his large soap-stone 
pipe, and filling and lighting it, placed it in his mouth. 
After a whiff or two, he began : 

‘‘ It'S no use argyfyird the matter — I am the ugliest 
man, now on top of dirt. Thar’s narry nuther like me ! 
I’m a crowd by myself. 1 oilers was. The fust I 
know’d of it, tho’, was when I was ’bout ten years old. 
I went down to the spring branch one mornin’, to wash 
my face, and I looked in the water, I seen the shadder 
of my face. Great God ! how I run back, hollerin’ for 
mammy, every jump ! That’s the last time I seen my 
face — I darsen’t but shet my eyes when I go ’bout 
water !” 

Don’t you use a glass, when you shave I 
inquired. 

“Glass! Zounds! What glass could stand it? — 
’twould bust it, if it was an inch thick. Glass ! — 
pish !” 

Lucy told her father he was “ too bad,” and that 
“ he knew it was no sich a thing;” and the old man 
told her she was a “ sassy wench,” and to “ hold her 
tongue.” 

“ Yes,” he continued ; “ it’s so ; I haven’t seen my 
face in forty years^ but I know how it looks. Well, 
when I growed up, J thort it would be the devil to find 
a woman that’d be willing to take me, ugly as I was” — 
Oh, you was not so oncommon hard-favoured when 
you was a young man,” said old Mrs. Wallis. 

“ Oncommon ! I tell you when I was ten years old, 
a Jly loouldnH light on my face — and it can’t be much 


4G A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 

wuss now ! Shet up, and let me tell the ’squire my 
ixperance.” 

“ It’s no use,” put in Lucy, to be runnin’ one’s 
own self down, that way, daddy ! It ain’t right.” 

“ Runnin’ down ! Thunder and lightnin’. Luce ! 
you’ll have me as good-\pokin’ directly as John Boze- 
man, your sweetheart.” 

As he said thi^, old Bill looked at me, and succeeded 
in half covering the ball of his left eye, by w^ay of a 
wink. Lucy said no more. 

The old man continued : 

“Well, hard as I thort it ’ud be to get a wdfe, fust 
thing I knowed, I had Sally here ; and she is, or was, 
as pretty as any of them.” 

Old Mrs. Wallis knitted convulsively, and coughed 
slightly. 

“ However, she never kissed me afore we was mar- 
ried, and it was a long time arter afore she did. The 
way of it was this : we had an old one-horned cow, 
mighty onnery (ordinary) lookin’, old as the North Star, 
and poor as a black snake. One day I went out to the 
lot”— 

“ Daddy, I wouldnH tell exclaimed Lucy, in 

the most persuasive tones. 

“Drot ef I don’t, tho — it’s the truth, and ef you 
don’t keep still. I’ll send for Bozeman to hold you quiet 
in the corner.” 

Lucy pouted a little, and was silent. 

“ Yes, I went out to the lot, and thar, sure as life, 
was my old ’oman, swung to the cow, and the old thing 
flyin’ round, and cuttin’ up all sorts o’ shines ! Ses I, 
‘ what the h-11 are you up to, old’ Oman V And 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 47 

with that she let go, and told me she was tryin’ to 
prac^i 2 :e^ kissin’ on old ‘ Cherry,’ and she thort arter 
that she could make up her mind to kiss me /” 

Old man, you made that! live hearn you tell it 
afore — but you made it,” said the old lady. 

‘‘ Well, well ! I told her, ’squire, ses I, < come down 
to it now ! — hang the cow — shet your eyes ! — hold your 
breath 1’ — and upon that she bussed so’s you might a 
heard it a quarter, and since, nobody’s had better kissin’ 
than me I Now, that was my first ixperance about 
bein’ ugly, arter I was grown, and ’twan’t so bad 
neither 1 

“ The next time my ugly feeturs came into play, 
was in Mobile ; was you ever thar! Worst place on 
the green yearth ; steamboats, oysters, free niggers, 
furrinners, brick houses — hell! thaPs the place! I 
went down on a flat-boat from Wetumpky, with old 
John Todd. We had a fust-rate time of it, ’twell we 
got most to Mobile, and then the d — d steamboats 
would run so close to us, that the sloshiii^ would pretty 
nigh capsize us. They done it for devilment. My ! 
how old John cussed ! but it done no good. At last, 
ses I, « I’ll try ’em ; ef thar’s enny strength in cussin’. 
I’ll make ’em ashamed !’ So the next one come along 
cavortin’ and snortin’ like it was gwine right into us, 
and did pass in twenty foot ! I riz right up on a cot- 
ton bag, and ses I to the crowd — which there was a 
most almighty one on the guards of the boat — ses I, 
‘ you great infernal, racket-makin’, smokin’, snortin’, 
hell totin’ sons of thunder — ’ 

“ Afore I could git any furder in my cussin’, the 
crowd gin the most tremenjus, yearth-shakin’ howl that 


48 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 


ever was hearn — and one fellar, as they was broad-side 
with usj hollored out, « It’s the old He ugly himself! 
Great G — d, what a mouth I’ With that, thar was 
somethin’ rained and rattled in our boat like hail, only 
hevier, and directly me and old John picked up a level 
])eck of huck-horn-handled knives ! I’ll be darn’d this 
minit if we didn’t!” 

Old Mrs. Wallis looked to Heaven, as if appealing 
there for the forgiveness of some great sin her ugly 
consort had committed ; but she said nothing. 

“ So I lost nothin’ by bein’ ugly that time ! Arter I 
got into Mobile, howsever, I was bothered and pestered 
by the people stoppin’ in the street to look at me — all 
dirty and lightwood-smoked as I was, from bein’ on the 
boat.” — 

I think I’d a cleaned up a little,” interposed tidy 
Lucy. 

Old ’oman ! airdt you got nary cold ’tater to choke 
that gal with ! Well they’d look at me the hardest you 
ever seen. But I got ahead o’ my story : A few days 
afore, thar had been a boat busted, and a heap o’ peo- 
ple scalded and killed, one way and another. So at 
last, as I went into a grocery, a squad of people fol- 
lowed me in, and one ’lowed, ses he, « it’s one of the 
unfortunate sufferers by the bustin’ of the Franklin,’ 
and upon that he axed me to drink with him, and as I 
had my tumbler half way to my mouth, he stopped me 
of a sudden — 

« Beg your pardon, stranger — but’ — ses he. 

‘ But — what.-*’ ses I. 

«« ‘ Jist fix your mouth that way again P ses he. 

I done it, just like I was gwine to drink, and I’ll 
be cussed if I didn’t think the whole on ’em would go 


A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 49 

into fits! — they yelled and whooped like a gang of 
wolves. Finally, one of ’em ses, ‘ don’t make fun of 
the unfortunate ; he’s hardly got over bein’ blowed up 
yet. Less make up a puss for him.’ Then they all 
throwed in, and made up five dollars ; as the spokes- 
man handed me the change, he axed me, ‘ Whar did 
you find yourself after the ’splosion ?’ 

‘‘ ‘ In a flat-boat,’ ses I. 

‘ How far from the Franklin ?’ ses he. 

<t i Why,’ ses I, « I never seen her, but as nigh as I 
can guess, it must have been, from what they tell me, 
nigh on to three hundred and seventy-five miles V You 
oughter ’a seen that gang scatter. As they left, ses 
one, ‘ It’s him. Ith the Ugly Man of all P 

Knockin’ round the place, I came upon one o’ these 
fellers grinds music out’n a mahogany box. He had a 
little monkey along — the d — dest peartest, least bit of a 
critter, you ever seed! Well, bein’ fond of music and 
varmints, I gits pretty close to the masheen, and d — d 
ef ’twan’t hard to tell which got the most praise, me or 
the monkey. Howsever, at last, I got close up, and 
the darn thing ketcht a. sight of me and squalled! It 
jumped olf’n the box in a fright, and hang’d itself by 
its chain. The grinder histed it up agin, but it squalled 
more’n ever, and jerked and twisted and run over the 
keeper, and jumped ofT’n his back, and heng’d itself 
agin. The sight 0 ^ me had run it distracted! At last 
the grinder hilt it to his bosom, and ses he, 

«« « Go ways, oagley man — maungkee fraid much oag- 
ly !’ Ses I, ‘ Go to h-ll, you old heathen — (you see 
he was some sort of a Dutch chap or another) — if you 
compar me to your dirty monkey agin, I’ll throw i1 
5 ‘ ‘ • 


50 A NIGHT AT THE UGLY MAN’S. 

helPards, and split your old box over your head ! 
And ses he right off agin, 

‘‘ ‘ Maungkee ish petter ash dat oagley mans!’ 

Ses I, Gentle77>>€/i, you heer this crittur compar me, 
a free Amerakin, to his d — d. heathen dumb brute of 
Afriky and with that, I fetched the monkey sailing 
that sent him a whirlin’ about sixty-five yards, over a 
brick wall, and the next minit the Dutchman and his 
box was the wost mixed up pile of rags and splinters 
you ever seen in o?ie. mud-hole ! About that time, too, 
thar was a pretty up-country runnin’ on top o’ them cuss- 
ed bricks asyon’ll commonly see. I lay up two or three 
days, and at last made my passage up to Wetumpky, in 
the cabin P'* 

« How was that ?” I asked. 

An old lady, that was along, ’lowed that it was 
dangersome for me to stay on the deck, 1 might scare 
the masheenery out o’ jint. So they tuck me in the 
cabin afore we started, and I reckon I was treated nigh 
on to a hundred times, afore we got to Wetumpky.” 

That’s not the way you told it the last time,” 
remarked Mrs. Wallis. 

“ Thunder! ’squire, did you ever hear sich wimmen 
folks — I’ve hardly had a chance to edge in a word, to- 
night. Well, my last ixperance was about a year ago. 
I got ketcht in a hurricane ; it was blowin’ like the 
devil, arid the thunder and lightnin’ was tremenjus — so I 
gits under a big red-oak, and thar I sot ’twell the light- 
nin’ struck it! I was leanin’ agin the tree when the 
bolt come down, shiverin’ and splinterin’ all before it. 
It hit me right here” — and then” — 


A NIGHT AT THE tJGLY MAN"S. 51 

‘‘Good Heavens! did lightning disfigure your face 
so ?” 

“ Disfigure h — 11! No! The lightnin’ struck right 
here, as I was sayin’, and then — it glanced!” 

“ Good Lord look down !” ejaculated Mrs. Wallis. 

“ You’d better go to bed now, ’squire,” said old Bill ; 
“ and in the mornin’ I’ll go with you and. Dick to the 
Horse Shoe.- That was the main feetur’ of old Hick- 
ory. He was ugly some, hisself. God bless him, I’ve 
seed him — but he didn’t have the gift like me. Good 
night.” 


* 'V 'rv ^ V " 


THE MUSCADINE STOEY. 


A CHAPTER IN THE BIOGRAPHY OF «« CAPTAIN SUGGS.” 

It was in the account which we once gave the pub- 
lic, we believe, of the scrape which ‘‘ Daddy Biggs” 
got into at Cockerell’s Bend, that we alluded to a cer- 
tain affair, known as the Muscadine Story the 
which, in the opinion of our hero, was not a matter to 
be related in print, while wimmen” remained so 
^^monstus jelMs a things The story was therefore 
suppressed, and our readers left to worry their brains 
with impotent surmises, conjectures, and speculations. 

Time, the great modifier, often softens the harshest 
aspect, while he corrugates and disfigures the most 
beautiful. Alike are his operations in the physical and 
moral world. Mrs. Suggs acknowledges a change in 
her view of things, produced by the lapse of years. 
The Captain’s former vagaries — his little peccadilloes 
— his occasional gallantries — she now considers as the 
venial errors of a somewhat extended juvenility. In 
fact, the good old lady feels some little pride now, at 
the recital of any incident tending to show the irresisti- 
bility of her liege lord, considered with reference to the 
softer sex. “ Bygones are bygones with her — if Cap- 
tain Suggs was good lookin’ and sassy, it was not her 

( 52 ) 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


53 


fault.” The reader will observe that she speaks in 
the past tense — Suggs fuit^ alas! as far as female con- 
quest is concerned — he’ stands now simply a tottering, 
whitened, leaky-eyed, garrulous old man. Mrs. Suggs, 
therefore, is no longer annoyed by allusion to his 
prowess in other days, and the tale of the Muscadine 
may, with propriety, be made public. 

It was a bland September morning, in a year that 
need not be specified, that the Captain, standing in 
view of the west door of the court-house at Dadeville, 
perceived the sheriff emerging therefrom, a bundle of 
papers in hand, and looking as if he desired to execute 
some sort of a capias. 

The Captain instantly bethought him, that there was 
an indictment pending against himself for gaming, and 
began to collect his energies for an emergency. The 
sheriff hailed him at the same moment, and requested 
him to “ hold on.” 

Stop, Ellis — right thar in your tracks, as the bullet 
said to the buck,” Suggs responded ; “ them docky- 
ments look venermous 

‘‘No use,” said the officer — “sooner or later you 
must be taken ; dog-face Billy Towns is here, and he’ll 
go your security.” 

“ Keep off, I tell you, Ellis ; I ain’t safe to-day — the 
old woman’s coffee was cold this mornin’, and it fretted 
me. If you’ve got anything agin me, keep it ’till Court 
— I’ll be thar — ‘ waive all formalities,’ you know I” 

“ I will waive nothing,” replied the sheriff, advanc- 
ing : “ I’ll put you whar I can find you when wanted.” 

Suggs drew an old revolving pistol, whereupon tl^ 
sheriff paused. 

5 * 


54 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


The blood,” shouted the Captain, of the High 
Sheriff of Tallapoosy County be upon his own head. 
If he crowds on to me, I give fair warnin’ I’ll discharge 
this revolten^ pistol seven several and distinct times, as 
nigh into the curl of his forehead, as the natur’ of the 
case will admit.” 

For a moment the sheriff was intimidated ; but recol- 
lecting that Capt. Suggs had a religious dread of carry- 
ing loaded fire-arms about his person, although he often 
sported them uncharged for effect, he briskly resumed 
his stride, and the Captain, hurling the revolter” at 
his head, at once fell into a ‘‘ killing pace” towards the 
rack where stood his pony, «« Button.” 

The sheriff’s horse, by chance, was tied at the same 
rack, but a wag of a fellow, catching Suggs’s idea, un- 
hitched the pony, and threw the bridle over its neck, 
and held it ready to be mounted ; so that the Captain 
was in his saddle, and his nag at half speed, ere the 
sheriff put his foot in the stirrup. 

Here they go ! clattering down the street like an 
armed troop !” Now the blanket-coat of the invincible 
Captain disappears round Luke Davenport’s corner! 
The sheriff is hard after him I “ Go it, Ellis !” Go it, 
Suggs I Whoop ! whoop ! hurrah I” Again the 
skirts of the blanket-coat become visible, on the rise by 
M’Cleudon’s, whisking about the pony’s rump I “ Lay 
whip. Sheriff; your bay’s lazy!” The old bay gains 
on Button, however. But now they turn down the long 
hill towards Johnson’s Mill creek. Right sturdily the 
pony bears his master on, but the bay is overhauling 
him fast ! They near the creek ! He has him ! no ! 
— the horse runs against the pony — falls himself — pro- 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


55 


jects his rider into the thicket on the right — and knocks 
the pony and its rider into the stream ! 

It happened, that, by the concussion or some other 
cause, the girth of Captain Suggs’s saddle was broken; 
so that neither himself nor his saddle was precisely on 
Button’s back when they reached the water. It was no 
time to stop for trifles, however ; so leaving the saddle 
in the creek, the Captain bestrode the bare back of his 
panting animal, and made the best of his way onward. 
He knew that the Sheriff would still follow, and he 
therefore turned from the road at right angles, skirted 
the creek swamp for a mile, and then took a direction 
by which he would reach the road again, four or five 
miles from the scene of his recent submersion. 

The dripping Captain and his reeking steed cut a 
dolorous figure, as they traversed the woods. It was 
rather late in the season to make the hydropathic treat- 
ment they had so lately undergone agreeable ; and the 
departure of the Captain from Dadeville had been too 
unexpected and hurried to allow the slightest opportu- 
nity for filling his quart tickler. Wonder,” said he 
to himself, “ if I won’t take a fit afore I git any more — 
or else have a whole carryvan of blue-nose monkeys 
and forky-tail snakes after me — and so get a sight of 
the menajerie ’thout payin’ the fust red cent ! Git up, 
you d — d Injun !” With the last words, Simon vigor- 
ously drove his heels against Button’s sides, and in a 
half hour had regained the road. 

Scarcely had Captain Suggs trotted an hundred yards, 
when the sound of horses’ feet behind him caused him 
to look back. It was the Sheriff. 

‘‘ Hello! Sheriff! stop!” said Suggs. 


56 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


The Sheriff drew up his horse. 

« I’ve got a proposition to make to you ; you can go 
home with me, and thar I can give bond.” 

<< Very well,” said the Sheriff. 

But hands off till we git thar, and you Vide fifty 
steps ahead of me, for fear of accidents — that’s the 
proposition.” 

Agreed !” 

‘‘Not so fast,” said Suggs, “thar’s a condition.” 

“What’s that.?” 

“ Have you got any liquor along?” 

The Sheriff pulled out a black bottle by way of reply. 

“ Now,” said Captain Suggs, “ do you put the bot- 
tle on that stump thar, and ride out from the road fifty 
yards, and when I git it, take your position in front.” 

These manoeuvres were performed with much accu- 
racy, and the parties being ready, and the Captain one 
drink ahead, 

“For — rard, march!” said Suggs. 

In this order, the Sheriff and Captain wended their 
way, until they arrived at the crossing of Eagle Creek, 
a stream having a miiy swamp on each side. ' As his 
pony was drinking, an idea popped into the Captain’s 
head which was immediately acted upon. He sudden- 
ly turned his pony’s head down stream, and in half a 
minute was out of sight. 

“ Come, Button,” said he, “ let’s hunt wild-cats a 
spell I” • 

The Sheriff, almost as soon as he missed our hero, 
heard him splashing down the creek. He plunged into 
the swamp, with the intention of heading him, but the 
mud was so soft that after floundering about a little 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


67 

while, he gave it up, and returned to the road, cursing 
as much for the loss of his -black bottle, as of the 
Captain. 

“ Hello, Ellis !” shouted Suggs. 

Hello, yourself !” 

«« Don’t you try that swamp no more ; it’ll mire 
butterflies, in spots !” 

“No danger!” was the response. 

“ An,d don’t you try to follow me, on that tall horse, 
^down'the run of this creek ; if you do, you’ll have both 
eyes bangin’ on bamboo briers in goin’ a hundred yards 
— besides, moccasin time aiiiH over yet^ and thar’s lots 
of ’em about these -old logs I” 

“ Take care of yourself, you d — d old thief!” said 
the irritated officer. 

“Once again, Ellis, old fellow!” said Suggs, coax- 
ingly. 

“ What do you want?” 

“Nothin’, only I’m much obleeged to you for this 
black bottle — here‘s s luck ! — you can charge the price 
in the next bill of costs you git agin me !” 

The discomfited Sheriff could stand this jeering from 
the Captain no longer, so he put spurs to his horse and 
left. 

“ Now,” murmured Suggs, “ let me depart in peace, 
for thar’s no chance to ketch up with me now! — Cuss 
the hole— and yonder’s a blasted horsin’ log ! 

■“ Well, the wicked flee when no man pursueth ; won- 
der what they’d do if they had that black rascal, Mar- 
tin Ellis, after ’em, on that infernal long-legged bay ? 
Durn the luck ! thar’s that new saddle that I borrowed 
from the Mississippi feller — which he’ll never come 


58 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


back for it — thaPs lost in the mill creek ! — ^jist as good 
as ten dollars out of my pocket. Well, it’s no use 
’sputin’ with providence — hit will purvide !” 

The Grand Jurors of the State of Alabama,” he 
continued, soliloquizing in the verbiage of an indict- 
ment ; “ elected, sworn, and charged — d d rascals 

all^ with Jim Bulger at the head ! — to inquire for the 
body of Tallapoosa County — durn their hearts! its my 
body t1wy\e after ! — upon their oaths present — the h — I 
they do ! — that Simon Suggs — hem ! ihaVs me, hut they ' 
mighVve put the « Captaird to it, though ! — late of said 
County — d — d if I warnH one of the fust settlers, which 1 
was here, afore they had a sign of a Court House! 

Well, it’s no use thinkin’ about the lyin’ thing ; I’ll 
have to go to Hadenskeldt, at Court, to git me out’n the 
suck. Now, he'’s a quar one, ain’t he ? Never got him 
to do any law job for me yet but what I had to pay him 
— d — n the feller. Anybody would think ’twas as hard 
to git money from me as ’tis for a man to draw a head- 
less tenpenny nail out’n an oak post with his teeth — but 
that little black-headed lawyer makes a ten, or a twenty, 
come every pop ! 

« Wonder, how fur ’tis down to the bend? This 
creek makes into the river about a mile below it, they 
say. Never mind, thar’s a few drinks of the ipsydirixy 
left, and the menajjerie won’t open to-day. I judge if 
my old woman knowed whar I was goin’, and who I was 
goin’ to see, she’d make the yeath shake. But she 
don’t know ; it’s a prinsippel that Providence has put 
into the bosom of a man — leastways all sensible men — 
to run on and talk a heap afore their wives, to make 
’em believe thefre tiirnin^ wrong side out before ’em, and 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


59 


yet never tell ’em the fust d — d word of truth. It’s 
a wise thing in providence, too. Wonder if I’ll ketch 
that rascal Jim Sparks jewlarkin’ round Betsy, down at 
old Bob’s!” 


PLURIMA DESUNT. 

On the morning after the occurrence of the adventure 
we have related, Captain Suggs sat in a long trim-built 
Indian canoe, which was moored to the north bank of 
the Tallapoosa river. Near him was Miss Betsy Cocke- 
rell. She sat facing the Captain, on a board laid across 
the gunwales of the boat. Miss Betsy was a bouncing 
girl, plump, firm, and saucy, with a mischievous rolling 
eye, and a sharp word for ever at her tongue’s end. 
She seemed to be coquetting with the paddle she held 
in her hand, and occasionally would strike it on the 
water, so as to besprinkle Captain Suggs, much to his 
annoyance. 

Oh, Captin, you do persuade me to promise you so 
hard. And Jim Sparks says you’re married ; and if you 
ain’t you mought ’a been, twenty years ago ; you’re old 
enough.” — (splash I) 

« D — n it, mind how yv)u throw your water 1 Jim 
Sparks is a triflin’ dog — if I have got a wife, Betsy, she 
is goin’ fast.” 

«« Coin’ wharV^ asked Betsy, striking the water 
again. 

Confound your paddle! can’t you keep it still? 
Providence is goin’ to take her home, Betsy — she’s 
dwindled away to a sh adder, with that cough and one 
thing and another. She ain’t long for this world,” he 
added mournfully ; ‘‘ and if you, Betsy, will only make 


60 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


up your mind — the devil take that paddle ! — you’ll turn 
over the boat and throw me in the river ! — make up 
your mind to step into her shoes, it looks like it would 
sort o’ reconcile me to lose her” — and here a tear leaked 
out of each corner of the Captain’s eyes. 

Oh, Captin,” said Betsy, half shutting one eye, and 
looking quizzical; ‘‘ thar’s so many good-lookin’ young 
fellers about, I hate to give ’em up. I like you. Cap- 
tin, but thar’s Bill Edwards, and Jet Wallis, and Jim 
Sparks, and” — 

‘‘‘Good lookin’!’ and ‘Jet Wallis’ and ‘Jim 
Sparks!’ Why Jet’s mouth is no better than a hole 
made in the fore part of his head with a claw-hammer 
— and as for Jim Sparks, he’s got the face of a terrier 
dog.” 

“ Do you count yourself good-lookin’ asked Betsy, 
with great naivete. 

“ Gal!” replied Suggs, with dignity, “ did you ever 
see me in my uniform } with my silver oppolots on my 
shoulderf and my red sash round my waist.? and the 
sword that Governor Bagby give me, with the gold 
scabbard a bangin’ by my side .?” 

Just at this moment a step was heard, and before the 
Captain and Betsy had recovered from the shock of 
intrusion. Sheriff Ellis stepped into the boat, and assert- 
ed that Suggs “ was his prisoner!” 

“ Treed at last!” said the Captain ; “but it’s no use 
frettin’ ; the ways of Providence is mysterious. But 
whar did you cross, Ellis !” 

“Oh, I knew you’d be about the old lick log ’a fish- 
in’ with Betsy. I’ll turn the kunnoo loose, and Bets, 
will take us across. I crossed at Hambrick’s ferry, left 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


61 


my horse on t’other side, and come down on you, like 
a mink on a settin’ hen. Come! come! it’s time we 
were off to Dadeville.” 

“Providence is agin me,” sighed the Captain ; “ I’m 
pulled up with a short jerk, in the middle of my kur- 
reer. Well, but,” he continued, musing, “ ’spose a 
feller tries on his own hook — no harm in takin’ all the 
chances — I ain’t in jail, yet 

A few yards below, the boat landing,' there grew out 
of the bank, an immense water-oak, projecting over the 
river, at an angle of about forty-five. A huge musca- 
dine vine enwrapped the oak in every part, its branches 
and tendrils covering it like network. The grapes 
were now ripe, and hung over the river 

in bacchanal profusion, — 

Purple and gushing.’’ 

Betsy allowed the canoe to drop down slowly, just 
outside of where the tips of the lower branches of the 
tree dallied with the rippling water. The fruit attract- 
ed the Sheriff’s eye and appetite, and reaching out an 
arm he laid hold of a branch, and began to “ pluck and 
eat.” 

“ D — n the grapes!” said Suggs, angrily ; “ let’s go 
on !” 

“ Keep cool,” said the Sheriff, “ I’ll fill my pockets 
first.” 

“ Be in a hurry, then, and if you will gather the d — d 
things, reach up and pull down them big bunches, up 
thar” — pointing to some fine clusters higher than the 
Sheriff could reach, as he stood up in the boat — “pull 
the vines down to you !” 

6 


62 


THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


The Sheriff tried, but the vines resisted his utmost 
strength; so crying steady!” he pulled himself up 
clear of the boat, and began to try to establish a footing 
among the foliage. 

At this moment Captain Suggs made no remark 
orally, but his eye said to Betsy, as plainly as eye 
could talk, <«hit her a lick back, my gal I” 

Silently the paddle went into the water, Betsy lean- 
ing back, with lips compressed, and in a second the 
canoe shot ten feet out from the tree, and the Sheriff 
was left dangling among the vines ! 

“ Stop your blasted jokes !” roared the officer. 

Keep cool, old Tap-my-shoulder ! thar’s jist the 
smallest grain of a joke in this here, that ever you seed. 
It’s the coldest sort of airnest.” 

What shall I do ? How shall I get out of this ?” 
asked Ellis, piteously. 

«« Let all go and drop in the water, and swim out,” 
was the reply. 

I can’t swim a lick — how deep is it?” 

Suggs seemed to ruminate, and then replied, 

“From — say — fifteen — yes, at leasts fifteen — to — 
about twenty-five foot. Ugly place !” 

“ Great God,” said poor Ellis, “you certainly won’t 
leave me here to drown — my strength is failing already.” 

“ If I don’t,” said the Captain, most emphatically, 
“ I wish I may be landed into a thousand foot h — 1,” 
and saying a word to Betsy, they shot rapidly across 
the river. 

Kissing his companion as he stepped out of the boat, 
Suggs sought Button, who was tied in a thicket near 
by, and mounting, pursued his homeward way. 













“ Silently the paddle went into the M'ater, Betsy leaning back, with lips eom- 
pressed, and in a second the canoe shot ten feet out from the tree, and 
the Sheriff was left dangling among the vines !’’ — Page 6*2. 









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THE MUSCADINE STORY. 


63 


JVever desjmr,'^^ he said to himself, as he jogged 
along — “ never despar ! Honesty, a bright watch-out, 
^a hand o’ cards in your fingers and one in your lap, 
with a little grain of help from Providence, will always 
fetch a man through ! Never despar ! I’ve been hunted 
and tracked and dogged like a cussed wolf, but the 
Lord has purvided, and my wust inimy has tuck a tree ! 
Git up. Button, you blasted, flop-eared injun !” 


THE BAILIFF THAT ‘‘ STUCK TO HIS OATH.’’ 


When I first had the honour of representing the State 
of Alabama, as Solicitor of the «« Bloody Ninth” Cir- 
cuit, I had a rough road to travel. The people gene- 
rally were none of the most refined, and the state dock- 
ets, in particular, showed a class of individuals who 
geographically described themselves as fellows, 
hard to head.” A novice in the prosecuting line, I 
soon found that it would require all my vigilance and 
tact to prevent frequent and disastrous defeats. The 
experience, fertility of resource, impudence, and gene- 
ral sharpness of the “ State’s” opponents did, in fact, as 
often win as lose. In plain cases, it was even betting ! 
The ‘‘ law and the testimony” might be as apparent as 
the nose on John Tyler’s face, and yet the rascals would 
often, by some ingenious and devilish device, clear the 
well-arranged meshes of legislative enactments. 1 
ascertained in short (by the w^ay, it was whispered 
confidentially in my ear, by that ar^h enemy of “the 
State,” Burrell Blackman~an old fellow, half-trader, 
half-lawyer, of inimitable physiognomical characteris- 
tics and interminable business ramifications in every 
county of the circuit — ), I ascertained, I say, that to be 
ofiicient, a solicitor must get the “ hang"*^ of his cus- 
tomers ! 


( 64 ) 


THE BAILIFF THAT STUCK TO HIS OATH.” 65 

Another disadvantage under which I laboured was 
this : — the judges and solicitors who, previously to my 
incumbency, had administered the law, had, in ‘t'ten- 
der commiseration” of the freshness of the country — 
then but recently occupied by whites — exhibited great 
leniency towards those who chanced to be arraigned for 
mere misdemeanors. Murder, arson, burglary, and the 
like, were punished promptly enough; but offences 
against the statutes inhibiting gaming, retailing liquor 
without license, adultery, and so forth, were viewed 
with much allowance, in the old Nihth. In truth, the 
Judges themselves liked toddy, and whist, per se, and 
did not perceive that the flavour of the one was regu- 
lated by the legal competency of the vender, or the 
amusement of the other increased or diminished by the 
absence of those circumstances which go to make up a 
case of “ unlawful gaming.” So far did this sentiment 
and practice obtain, that numerous jokes and stories 
were concocted, and boldly related, illustrative of the 
penchant for liquor and cards, of the afore-mentioned 
functionaries. Among these, was a bit of badinage, 
that old Burrell (aforesaid) always jocularly plagued 
Bill Swallow, my predecessor, with — that in his (the 
said Burrell’s), county, the grand jury never adjourned 
until all their loose cash had been transferred to the 
solicitor’s pockets, and that then the grand inquest 
stood dissolved, ipso facto. Swallow used to laugh 

consumedly” at Burrell’s wit, and declare that the 
solicitorship of the Ninth would starve any man that 
hadn’t luck and skill enough to beat the bench, bar, 
and juries of the circuit, at poker.” 

The bar of the circuit were, on the whole, a clever 

6 * 


66 


THE bailiff ‘that 


set. Only a few rode through all the counties — the 
rest would be met at two or three of the courts only. 
Among those whose names will occasionally appear in 
these notes, were Sam Wheat,” who rode the entire 
circuit, and had a finger in nearly every case of import- 
ance ; Lewis,” who, like Sam, went all round— and 
like him, in another respect, was a cultivated man, and 
an able lawyer ; “ Botts,” who stuck to his own courts, 
where he let inferior men take precedence of him, out 
of sheer bashfulness, notwithstanding he had a piquant 
vein of sharp sarcasm in him, with which he occasion- 
ally punished ; Boanerges Mix, who was sui generis — 
the most original man I ever saw. Lastly, was Mit- 
chem Maull, Esq., a capital fellow, crazy on the sub- 
ject of law, whereof he knew less than a Hottentot, but 
gifted with a fluency of expression, earnestness of man- 
ner, and oddity of thought, which, when worked toge- 
ther in one of his speeches, never failed to make judge, 
lawyers, jury, spectators, and all, roar with incontrolla- 
ble laughter. Maull was almost an innocent.” He 
had, however, a simplicity of the most amusing sort, 
and was the pet of the bar, who liked to encourage and 
bring him forward on all occasions. 

Having thus endeavoured to give my readers some 
idea of the field of my labours, I propose to amuse them 
(if I can) with such anecdotical recollections as will 
serve to show how I gradually ^^got the hang of my 
customer s'^^ in the Ninth Circuit. 

The riding commenced in the county of Randolph. 
This county was most prolific of assaults and batteries, 
assaults with intent to murder — (sometimes the intent 
w^as executed!) — with a sprinkling of gaming” and 


STUCK TO HIS OATH.” 


67 


« A. & F.” Well, to Randolph I went, and soon had a 
very good grand jury packed away in a room, an hun- 
dred yards from the Court House. The bailiff in attend- 
ance on them, was a shrewd-looking old chap, with a 
mischievous eye,' and a nose that would certainly be 
considered dangerous in the vicinity of a powder maga- 
zine. Here,” said I to myself, as they passed out of 
the Court House, “here is a good bailiff, to begin with.” 
I went down to my room at the tavern, to arrange some 
papers, at the time the grand jury marched off to their 
quarters, and then hurried back to communicate with 
that august body. The fiery-nosed bailiff held the 
lock-knob of the closed door in his hand, and his look 
was that of a man determined to do or die.” 

“ Tell the grand jury I wish to lay some business 
before them,” said I to the jailor. 

No you don’t, ’squire,” he replied. 

“Don’t what.^ Tell the foreman I w^ant to come 
into the jury room.” 

“No you don’t — nobody ain’t allowed to go in thar ! 
Agin the law.” As he made this response, the bailiff 
looked very consequential. 

“You infernal jackass,” said I, somewhat irritated. 
“ I’m the solicitor, and want to communicate with the 
grand jury — let me go in !” 

“ I reckon I know the solicitor,” dryly responded the 
bailiff ; “ but you canH get in^ 

“ If you know me, why don’t you let me go in, or tell 
the foreman that I’m waiting here 

“ Because, you see, I’m a sworn officer.” 

“ What of that — didn’t you hear the judge tell the 
jury that the state’s attorney would confer with them, 


68 


THE BAILIFF THAT 


advise them, and so on? However, if you won’t let 
me in, I suppose I can make them hear me. Hel — ” 

“ Stop ! — stop ! — by — ! stop !” exclaimed the bai- 
liff. ‘‘ All I know is, I’m sworn not to'^peak to ’m my- 
self, nor suffer enny body else to speak to ^em, and by 
thunder, if you open your mouth to holler to ’em. I’ll 
have to choke you and take you before the court ! I’m 
a sworn officer !” 

I never felt more sheepish in my life. It struck me 
that my bailiff was, considering his looks, the most 
incomparable ass I had ever seen. But how to remedy 
the matter? That was the question. It was evident he 
wouldn’t announce me to the jury, and it was equally 
evident from his expression, that he only desired to have 
a pretence to ‘‘ hustle” me up before the court. Could 
it be possible that he really believed he was performing 
his duty? It looked so — and the solicitor of the 
‘‘ Bloody Old Ninth” slunk off to his room. At dinner 
time, the foreman gave the proper instructions to the 
bailiff, and that functionary, wdth a profusion of apolo- 
getic and complimentary expressions that did great cre- 
dit to his breeding, assured me that thereafter I would 
find him always ready to recognise my rights to the 
fullest extent. It was all,” he swore, his ignunce*'* 
— (ignorance.) However, that night, as I chanced to 
be passing by a grocery,” I heard a voice which I 
recognised as my bailiff’s. I paused, and looked in, 
from the shadow of a tree. The bailiff’ was leaning 
with his left arm on the counter ; in his right hand he 
held a tumbler of what I took to be ‘‘sweetened 
sperrits.” A group of the hoys almost encircled him. 


69 


‘‘stuck to his oath.” 

‘‘Take notice, boys,” he said, “soon as the grand 
jury went into the room, Peter Bowen — a d — d old ras- 
cal ! — commenced talkin’ about havin’ the boys up for 
playin’ cards in the old house at Frog Level. I knowed 
’twas Peter, for I put my ear close to the key-hole, and 
heard him plain. Some of the jury ’lowed it warnt 
agin the law to play in sich a place as that ; old Peter, 
tho’, said it was ‘ an out-house whar people resorted,’ 
and that was pint-blank agin Clay’s Digest. Mind, 
boys, I knowed ’twas agin the law, all the time, but I 
said nothin’ — only thought to myself how I could git 
the boys outer that scrape — for I seed thar was danger ■ 
of thar sendird for witnesses to come before'' eml I 
knowed in reason they’d send for Bill Crow and John 
Adams, which knowed all about the playin’, and I 
wanted a chance to give the boys the wink, so the off’- 
ser couldn’t find ’em. Well, arter a little, the jury 
settled down that they’d wait twell the s’lic’tor should 
come, and they’d take his opinion. Now, thinks I, 
how shall I keep off the s’lic’tor when he does come ?” 

“ You d — d old villain !” I muttered between my 
teeth — “ so you horned me off to get a chance to get 
gaming witnesses out of the way!” 

“ About the time,” he continued, “ I was tryin’ to 
work the thing out in my head, here he come, and 
boys” — (here the speaker imbibed slightly) — “if a 
thing was ever done up perfectly brown, like old Katy’s 
cake, I done it when I come it over that s’lic’tor, and 
kept him from that jury twell the boys had left ! You 
know how I done it-^well” — (here he finished his tum- 
bler) — “ thar’s hopin’ he may find the same luck wher- 


70 THE BAILIFF THAT “ STUCK TO HIS OATH.” 

ever he goes, and that the boys may never lack a grand 
jury bailiff that sticks to his oath 
Three fcheers and a drink all round succeeded — and 
I left in a hurry, with the virtuous determination, at the 
very first opportunity, to crowd’’ my red-nosed friend, 
for the very effectual manner in which he had «« sold” 
me to the Philistines. 


JIM BELL’S KEVENGE. 


On the morning during which the red-nosed bailiff 
so ruthlessly kept me from going into the grand jury 
room, that he might spirit off the gaming witnesses, I 
was somewhat repaid for my exclusion, and the wound 
inflicted on “ the peace and dignity,” by witnessing an 
amusing scene on the public square. The court-house 
town of Randolph, like other villages, had its dozens of 
wild youngsters — clerks, overgrown school-boys, and 
other larks, who were always ready for any deviltry that 
might turn up. Of course, they acted in concert — I 
never knew a set of the kind that did not. The thing 
is a sort of free masonry of mischief, and the members 
are usually all “ bright.” Let one make a demonstra- 
tion against any luckless individual selected as a vic- 
tim, and upon the instant, the whole clan take the cue, 
and begin the work of tormenting. Generally some 
inebriate is chosen, and while Bill Swinney holds him 
in conversation, Tom Abels slips up behind, and lets 
fly into his ear a cold stream of water from a squirt — or 
Tom Owen, pretending to brush an insect from his hair, 
embraces the opportunity” to smear the unfortunate’s 
face with a good article” of boot blacking. Still 
another variety of the fun-making is to catch two poor 
devils drunk, and get them together by the ears,” by 


72 


JIM bell’s BEVEX'GE. 


carrying fabricated messages from the one to the other. 
It was a specimen of this last-mentioned kind of amuse- 
ment that L witnessed, on the morning in question. 

Jim Bell, who lived (as I learned afterwards) in the 
northern end of the county, had visited town, for the 
purpose of buying two bunches “ of No. 8, spun truck 
but though he found thread of numbers 7 and 9, Jim 
would not purchase, for he said he would either suit 
the old ’oman to a liar — or else, he’d be cussed ef he’d 
git any spun truck at all^ So he spent the money 
intended for ‘‘truck,” in treating to “ old rye,” rather 
than buy any other than the precise number that his 
wife wanted to fill her counterpane with. And the 
morning was not more than half gone, before Jim was 
in that beatific frame in which wives, “ spun truck” of 
whatever number, and in fact, res domesticcBj generally, 
are w’elcome to go to the devil. 

Ephraim Biddle was also in town. He resided at 
the other extremity of the county, and had come to the 
court house to consult Squire Wind, “ to know for cer- 
tain, how high a fence a man ud have to have, afore he 
could shoot enny body’s mischeevous steer for jumpin’ 
over it.” Unfortunately, Squire Wind was engaged in 
the court room, and Eph. was compelled to fight off 
ennui with “ rectified.” So while Jim Bell was imbib- 
ing his “ liquor at ‘ Our House,’ ” Ephraim was swal- 
lowing his, on the other side of the square, at the “ Ran- 
dolph ’fectionery.” Neither of our worthies knew the 
other ; but the town boys (constituting the “ Devil’s 
Own Club”) determined, in solemn conclave, that they 
should become well enough acquainted, at least, to have 
a “ chunk of a fight.” And the “ town boys” knew 


JIM bell’s revenge. 


73 


the weak points developed in the personal history of 
both Jim and Ephraim, and with this advantage, they 
set to work. 

Jim (who was almost as deaf as a post) stood in the 
doorway of “ Our House,” holding on with one hand, 
to keep himself steady. His eye was watery, and his 
face red as a gobbler’s snout. Suddenly, a voice was 
heard, proceeding from a house across the square, in 
which the querist was concealed — 

“ Who stole John Strahan’s spoke-shave?” 

Another voice (from a masked battery in the neigh- 
bourhood of the ’fectionery,) responded — 

Jim Bell stole the spoke-shave!” 

What’s that?” asked Jim, who thought he heard 
his own name, but wasn’t certain. 

‘«It’s only Eph. Biddle,” replied a member of the 
town gang, who made it convenient to be by ; it’s 
only Eph. Biddle and his crowed over at the ’fectionery, 
makin’ game, and sayin’ you stole Strahan’s spoke- 
shave.” 

“ Who stole the spoke-shave ?” resounded again, 
before Jim had collected his faculties for reply. 

«« Jim Bell !” answered a voice of thunder. 

“ I’ll go over, by Jupiter,” roared Bell, w’ho was 
somewhat of a bully ; and whip the whole d — d 
crowd ; I will, by — .” 

‘‘ Hold on, Jim ! Hold on, old fellow,” said the 
amiable youth at his side — don’t go over, they’ll dou- 
ble teams on you thar | Jist stand here and give him 
sass back. Holler out, Who marked the white-face hull ? 
ThatHl take him foul ; I know him.” 

7 


74 JIM bell’s revenge. 

Jim did as he was told, and echo gave back the roar 
as he yelled^ — 

«« Who marked the white-face bull ?” 

In an instant, a powerful pair of lungs, from behind 
a corner of the Court House, replied — 

Eph. Biddle stole that bull !” 

Wake up, Eph.” said one of the gang, as he shook 
Eph. who was dozing in a chair in the ’fectionery, — 
“ wake up, thar’s old Jim Bell, a rearin’ and snortin’ 
like a steamboat, and swearin’ that you stole Hamby’s 
w’hite-face bull!” 

«<He caii't prove itj any how,” replied Eph., with 
Christian meekness, but wincing under an accusation 
which was not now made for the first time. 

“I wouldn’t stand it, any how!” rejoined the friend 
of Eph. ; « for it’s a disgrace to your children, and peo- 
ple will believe the thing, ef you don’t say nothin’ to it. 
Holler out < Who stole the spoke-shave V ” 

I’ll be derned if I don’t,” said Eph., who preferred 
that mode of retaliating to a more decisive one ; and 
staggering to the door, he bawled out — 

^ho stole the spoke-shave 

And then, at the instance of his amiable t own. f fiend ^ 
he replied to his own question, so that he might have 
been heard half a mile — 

“Jim Bell stole the spoke-shave!” 

“ Stand up to him, Eph. ! — that’s right! — every one 
of the town fellows is with you! Give it to him!” 
said the town boy. 

“ What’s that that fellow hollered about me asked 
Jim Bell, putting his hand to his ear, after the manner 
of deaf people. 


JIM bell’s revenge. 


75 


. « Nothin’,”- responded one of the virtuous youth, who 
by this time surrounded him ; «« nothin’, only that you 
stole Strahan’s spoke-shave! Give him Jesse, now, 
about the bull — tell him” — here the youngster whis- 
pered earnestly to Jim. 

Look here !” thundered Bell, — «« you triflin’, bull- 
stealin’ rogue of creation — do you want to hear what 
you said when they whipped you about that bull- 
beef?” 

“ Let’s have it! Let’s have it!” shouted the town- 
boys. 

«« Why, he said (as he was puttin’ on his shirt), that 
if he could always pay for good, fat beef, that easy, 
his family should never suffer !” 

The town-boys were in perfect ecstacies, and yelled 
loudly. Jim himself felt a little triumphant, and slap- 
ping his hands against his sides, in imitation of a 
rooster, he very gallinaceously emitted a 
CoCK-A-DOODLE-DOO ! 

Ef I was to act out my human feelins’,” sung out 
Eph., who just then remembered that he was a member 
of the Hard-shell Baptist church ; ef I was to act cut 
my human feelins, I’d come over thar, and wear you 
out, afore a cat could lick her tail !” 

What’s that he said ?” asked Jim, with his hand to 
his ear; and upon being informed, immediately re- 
joined — ‘«Ef you can’t act out your human feelins, act 
out your brute feelins — your hull feelins!” * 

Shouts of loudest merriment from the crowd inter- 
rupted Jim’s reply, and the town-boys began to “hus- 
tle” their victims closer together; “Ante up, Jim!” 
shouted the ardent friends of that individual — “ ante 


76 


JIM bell’s revenge. 


up to him, old fellow — we are with you !” Don’t 
be afraid, Eplf. ! — talk to him ! — you can’t be hurt in 
this crowd !” Such were the exclamations of encou- 
ragement with which the boys shoved Jim and Eph. 
towards each other ; and really the expected combat- 
ants had made up their minds, each that he would 
“ pitch into” the other — certain, respectively, that such 
warm and disinterested friends would prevent their « 
being seriously damaged. 

Just at this juncture, the sheriff, who had been sent 
by the court to quell the tumult, approached with rapid 
strides. Eph., in a panic, started off at full speed. 

“ Thar goes the Bull !” shouted one. 

“ Don’t he run like a cow suggested another. 

And with that, Jim and his friends started after Eph. 
The sheriff, satisfied with having driven the crowd to a 
greater distance from the court-house, returned to his 
duties in court. 

The mischievous rascals who had got up the fun be- 
tween Jim and Eph., were determined that the affair 
should not go off without a fight ; so the friends of 
each plied him with whiskey, insisting that honour im- 
peratively demanded that he should fight, and declaring 
that he would find his antagonist a mere nothing to 
whip. Exhilarated by the liquor, warmed by the words 
of their friends, Jim and Eph. decided that a pitched 
battle should decide the matter. But where to fight } 
Court was m session — it would not do to leave town — 
friends ought to be at hand. Here was a difficulty; 
but at' length Toru Culbreath suggested that Hudgins 
had a prime cellar under his grocery, and that they 
could take possession of it, and have their fight as pri- 


JIM bell’s revenge. 


77 


vately as they pleased. Accordingly to the cellar all 
hands repaired, and Jim and Eph. were hurried down 
the steps, and in a trice the doors were closed over 
them. As soon as this was done, one of the boys 
roared out to them, that they “ should never come outen 
thar till one or t’other hollered, even ef the day of judg- 
ment come fust!” 

The crowd staid at the cellar-door long enough to 
ascertain that the incarcerated had gone to work to 
earn their emancipation. 

It was some time after noon when I next saw Jim. 
He came to my room, his left hand wrapped in a red 
cotton handkerchief, and resting in the palm of his 
right. 

Are you the slissiter.?” asked Jim. 

« Yes.” 

“ Well, I want you to present me and Ephraim Bid- 
dle for a ’fray.” 

For an affray ? Maybe you only want him indicted 
for an assault and battery?” 

«« Never mind ; I know what I’m after — we font 
willin’ly by agreement, in town, to-day — I know all 
about it. Ain’t been indicted seven times in Georgy, 
without lamin’ what a ’fray is. We font this mornin’, 
and want the grand jury to ^o right to work on us, so’s 
I kin git the case tried this settin’ of the court.” 

Hadn’t you better wait ?” I suggested; perhaps 
no one will take the trouble to bring the matter to the 
attention of the grand jury, and so you may escape.” 

“ That’s just what I don’t want to happen,” replied 
Jim, as he took off the handkerchief, and commenced 
blowing his hand. «« He’s tuk advantige of me, and 
7 ^ 


78 


JIM bell’s revenge. 


chawed up my thumb and half my hand, and he shall 
suffer for it, ef I have to pay some myself!” 

As Mr. Bell’s deafness made it very unpleasant to 
keep up a conversation with him, I told him to go 
ahead,” and tell his whole story at once, which he did 
very nearly as follows : — 

“ I come to town, ’squire, to git some No. 8 spun 
truck for my wife, but I couldn’t find nothin’ but 7’s 
and 9’s ; and I’d jist a-died afore I’d got enny but jist 
w^hat the old woman sent for. So I turned in to have 
a little, spree, and hadn’t got more’n three or four 
drinks at the outside, when this blasted rascal, Eph. 
Biddle, begins to holler at me that I’d stole Strahan’s 
spoke-shave — of which twelve men in the state of 
Georgy said I warn’t guilty. Well, I was smartly tore 
up in my mind about it, when a youngster, that seemed 
mighty friendly to me — I will say it for this town, there’s 
as many friendly people here as I ever seed, for they 
all took sides, other for me or Eph. Biddle — he seemed 
quite friendly to me, the youngster did, and told me 
that Eph. Biddle had stole a white-face bull, himself. 
I peartened up then, and gin him as good as he sent, 
mind, I tell you. So one word brought on another, and 
at last, our friends agreed we should fight it out in 
Hudgins’ cellar. I tell you this is a friendly town, for 
I never had more friends in a fight noiohar, and ’twas 
the same way with Eph. And so we did ; we both 
•went down into the cellar, pretty groggy, and as the 
crowd, and my friends in particular, wanted the fight 
over, I feathered in on him as soon as I found whar he 
was. We both come to the ground — me on top, but 
somehow he had contrived to get this poor thumb in his 


JIM bell’s revenge. 


79 


mouth, and I tell you I thought heaven and yearth was 
a-comin’ together every time he mended his holt. It 
hurt awful, but I begun to sarch for a soft place in his 
head with my other thumb, and sure enough, it slipped 
into his right eye, and so I give it the Georgy set^ and 
then brought a raunch, and commenced feeling for the 
strings ! But thar warn’t no strings, nor no eye thar ; 
so I run my thumb in agin, and ses I, better luck next 
time; and with that I fetched another raunch, and 
begun to feel for the strings agin. No eye agin ! Then, 
ses I, ef there’s an eye in that socket. I’ll fetch it this 
time — so I fixed everything pertickler, by the old 
Georgy rule, and fetched another raunch — but it didn’t 
come, nor never did ! Thar was no chance to git at 
his t’other eye, the way he was layin’, and thar I had 
to fool at that same one better’n a hour, and he a chaw- 
in’ my hand to a mummy all the time. And last of 
all, ’squire, I had to holler ^ ^ — 

“ You bleated — did you 

<«I tell you lY had to come! I never should ’a hol- 
lered — leastways, he’d ’a told the news fust, ef he 
hadn’t a played it cussed foul on me. You see whar I 
was ’a gougin’, thar warned no eye, nor hadn’t been for 
many a day — it was gouged out ten years ago, in Georgy! 
So, ’squire, I want the law run agin us both, and I’ll 
see ef the one-eyed rascal can play any advantages in 
that game. 

Of course I complied with the reasonable request of 
Mr. Bell, and he and Eph. were bound over for trial, 
to the next term. 


MES. JOHNSON’S POST OFFICE CASE. 

“ Well, ’squire, I’ve found you at last, and I’m migh- 
ty glad on it,” exclaimed fat Mrs. Johnson, as she burst 
into my room, on the morning of the first day of the 
term at chambers. “ I’m po-vyerful glad to find ye, for 
I’ve got a case agin a feller, aid I want it fetched right 
up in court, so’s I can go home agin !” 

« What sort of a case, Mrs. Johnson 

It’s a case,” replied the old woman, as she scooped 
with her pipe among the dying embers on the hearth ; 

it’s a case ! and one that’ll put them as is in it, in the 
penitentiary — ’cordin’ to my notion.” 

Anybody been beating you.^” 

The widow expressed disdain with her eyes, and 
gave several emphatic, short sucks at her pipe, thereby 
giving the most contemptuous negative to my question. 

‘‘ What is it, then ? anything happened to the gals.^” 
I asked, smiling. 

(c My gals can take care o’ themselves,” she said, 
surlily. 

What is it, then ? I shall have to go into the grand 
jury, directly, and you must make haste.” 

“ The grand jury she asked, stooping to put more 
ashes in her pipe. 

Yes, the grand jury.” 


( 80 ) 


MRS. JOHNSON’S POST OFFICE CASE. 81 

“ The grand jury — well, Jeemes White’s on the 
grand jury, ain’t he ? I know him mighty well.” 

You must harry, Mrs. Johnson ; I am very busy 
to-day. What is your case ?” 

“ Well, well ! You know my Patsey ?” 

“ Yes, I believe so.” 

“ Her as married William Segroves, over in Georgy. 
Well, you see she was ailin’ smartly last month, and 
she know’d in reason I’d like to hear from her, so she 
gets Segroves to write me a letter. Segroves is a pow- 
erful good scribe, and there’s mighty few better larnt 
men any whar ; she gits Segroves, sure enough, to write 
me a letter, tellin’ all about her ailment, which the 
doctors said it was the milk-leg ^ 

“ The grand jury wants the s’lic’tur !” said an officer, 
putting his head in at the door. 

«« Hurry, Mrs. Johnson — wffiat is your case 

« To be sure ! Well, Segroves he writ the letter, and 
put it in the post office at Cave Creek.” 

c^W^ell, well!” 

« And now, ’squire, let me tell you. My t’other 
daughter, Betsey, that married Cullum, and went to 
Texas, she writ a letter to me, and put it into the Apple 
Orchard post office, in Houston county, on the very day 
week arter Segroves dropt his’n — or raither Patsey’s — 
at Cave Creek ; and you see,” — 

«« Go on, Mrs. Johnson ; I can’t stay here much 
longer.”- 

««In a minit,” replied Mrs. Johnson, as she reple- 
nished her pipe. And sure enough, Cullum’s letter 
come as straight as could be, and I got it at Poplar 
Valley, last Wednesday was a week, and Se^oves’s 


82 MRS. Johnson’s post office case. 

ain’t came yet — leastways Pve never seen it! JVow 
tharV* 

«« Your case, if you please, my dear madam I” 

My case ?” 

‘‘Yes.” 

I told you my caseV^ 

“ Great Heavens 1 woman, is this your case ?” and 
snatching up my hat, I hurried out of the room, exclaim- 
ing, as I did so, “ go to Jacob Collamer with your post 
office complaints !” 

“Jacob — who did he say?” queried the old lady of 
a man that entered at the moment — “Jacob — Jacob — 
whar does this Jacob Cumberlin live ? May be, he’s 
the Jestes of the Pease for the Toion Beat. I’ll go ’cross 
to the store and ax.” 

4 

# * * * # * # * 


t 


A FAIK OFFENDEE. 


There is an Alabama statute cumulative of the se- 
venth section of the Decalogue. It does not go to 
quite the same extent that the commandment does, but 
only inhibits the «« living*'^ in that offence which the 
Scripture enactment interdicts entirely. Indictments 
for this misdemeanor are not unfrequent in any of the 
counties of my circuit, and in one or two of them they 
constitute the leading feature of the state docket. The 
male and female offenders are paired off generally in 
the bills, and the cases, are invariably well defended. 
Here is a fair specimen of an entry of one of these 
cases on the trial docket : 


The State 


V, 

A. &F. 


John Smith, 
and 

Fanny Jones. 


Solicitor for the State. 

Grimes for deft. — Smith ; Wumble, 
Bright, Bingham, Pip &. Snip, Vesey, 
Jr., and Pipes, for deft., — Fanny 
Jones. 


The youngsters of the bar are always enthusiastically 
in” for the lady in the case. And as their services 
are never otherwise given than in pure charity^ the 
generous fellows deserve immense credit for their dis- 
interestedness. It almost always happens, however, 
that the defence” does not go to the merits” of the 

( 83 ) 


84 


A FAIR OFFENDER. 


case. If the indictment is not demurrable, the entire 
energies of the lady defendant’s numerous and mag- 
nanimous counsel are directed to begging, quizzing, 
blarneying, or bamboozling the solicitor into entering 
a nolle prosequi as to their client. This, though, has 
been «« tried on” so often, that it has become somewhat 
difficult to succeed in it. Extra ingenuity is brought 
into requisition to « rope in” the state’s representative. 
The latest attempt of the sort occasioned a'scene some- 
what as follows : 

’Squire Wheat told me to come and see you, ’bout 
my case,” said a rather pretty girl to me, as she took a 
seat in the office, one day, during court. 

Ah! — your case; well, what sort of a case is it.^*” 

«« My name’s Betsy Smith,” she replied, evasively. 

«« Well, Miss Betsy, if your case is a state case, tell 
me what sort of a one it is ; I havn’t the docket here, 
and we’ll talk about it.” 

Betsy dodged behind the wild turkey- tail which she 
carried by way of a fan, and then dodged out for a mo- 
ment, to exhibit a pair of pouting lips and angry 
glancing eyes. think you ought to know%” she 
said — « it’s your business. I suppose it’s some badness 
they’ve sworn agin me” — and then she again retired 
behind the fan for a second, but immediately emerged 
and commenced biting the tips of the feathers. 

‘‘You say Sam Wheat sent you to me. Is he your 
lawyer ?” 

“Yes, he’s my lawyer, and I wanted him to come 
himself, but he said I must come, for you would be 
certain to do as I wanted you to ; but I don’t know 


Betsy dodged behind the wild turkey-tail which she carried by way of a fan.”- 

Page 84 . 





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A FAIR OFFENDER. 85 

how it’ll be. I wish people could ’tend to their own 
business !” 

But, Miss Betsy, what is your case ? Have you 
been beating anybody a little ? Or, perhaps — ” 

“No, tain’t that! It’s ’bout me and John Buce. 
’Squire Wheat said you’d be sure to throw it outer 
court, for he never knowed a s’lisitor that wouldn’t 
take a gal’s part if she come to him herself. So you 
see that’s the reason I come.” 

“ Well, Miss Betsy,” I replied, “ that is a weakness- 
most solicitors have ; but unless you tell me what 
you’ve been doing, or are charged with doing, I can’t 
tell you what I can do for you.” The truth is, I had 
some faint misgivings of the character of Betsy’s 
offence, but there is nothing like bringing one’s female 
friends to the confessional. 

“ ’Squire, can’t you guess queried Betsy, as she 
nibbled the turkey-feathers. 

“ No, I can’t — for I can’t imagine that a pretty girl 
like yourself should have committed any sin worthy of 
a grand jury’s attention.” 

“Pshaw,* now! — pretty girls ain’t no more than 
other people. But, ef you must know” — here the 
young lady crammed half the turkey-tail in her mouth, 
and blushed very deeply — “ ef you must know, me 
AND John Buce ain’t married ! Thar ! it’s out now !” 

“ You and John Buce ain’t married ! Why, Miss 
Betsy, there’s no law that I know of, requiring you and 
John Buce to marry; and the fact is, that unless John 
is a devilish clever, good-looking fellow, he don’t 
deserve such luck!” 

“ Lord-a-massey, ’Squire, how you talk ! Looks like 

8 


86 


A FAIR OFFENDER. 


you mout understand me, ef you would. I tell you, 
me and John Buce ainH married — and we ougkter been, 
long ago !” 

As Betsy hurriedly uttered these last emphatic words, 
she hid her face and hands in her apron, and com- 
menced sobbing very energetically. The upshot of it 
was, that I told Miss Betsy, in the words of Scripture, 
to go and sin no more.” 


A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER; 

BEING PART THIRD OE TAKING THE CENSUS.” 

Those who have done ns the honour of reading our 
stories about “ Taking the Census” — a duty we per- 
formed in the year 1840, in the county of Tallapoosa— 
will probably recollect that our old friend Kit Kuncker, 
as he put us to bed on the night of the big frolic at his 
house, exacted a promise that we would visit him 
again, shortly thereafter; promising us, on his part, 
that he would ride all over the settlement with us, and 
more especially, that he would go with us to the house 
of Jim Kent, whose sister. Beck, was so ugly <«that 
the flies wouldn’t light on her face,” and about whose 
going to mill, he assured me, there was a very pleasant 
story to be told. 

Poor old Kit! But the other day we saw him — and 
how altered by the lapse of a few years ! His head 
has become white ; his figure more bent ; and his 
laughing old face — merry still ! — was furrowed with an 
hundred additional wrinkles. His eye, too, was dull — 
had lost the twinkle that used so mischievously to light 
up his countenance. And then, too, he walked with a 
staff, and when he went to mount Fiddler Bill,” he 
said, “ Help me, ’Squire,” instead of vaulting into the 

(87) 


88 A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 

saddle as of yore ! Thank you, ’Squire. God bless 
your Union heart — old Hickory and the Union for ever ! 
I’m gittin’ old now, ’Squire, and can’t git about, like 
I used to” — the old man sighed — Fiddler Bill is old, 
too, — notice how gray his face is — w^e’re all gittin’ old 
— yer Aunt Hetty as well’s the rest; and, God bless 
yer soul, ’Squire,” (here the old man warmed into ani- 
mation,) i^she'^s uglier than ever — uglier than the 
DEVIL — he! he! ya! ya! It’s wuth while coming, jist 
to take a look at her ! With that old long bonnet on” 

- — here the old fellow bent down on his horse’s neck, 
in a paroxysm of laughter — “he! he! hea! ya! ya! 
and her mouth skrootched up, ya! ya! the go-to-meet- 
in’ way ; I’ll be cust ef she ain’t so bad to look at, it’s 
enuff to fotch sickness in the family ! But,” he added, 
wiping the tears from his eyes, “ ’Squire, I’m old now, 
yer Aunt Hetty’s old, and Fiddler Bill is old — all old ! 
old! old! Ah, me!” 

But we are digressing. It was of our Ride with old 
Kit, in 1840, that we began to write — and not of his 
chattering in 1849. 

We went to old Kit’s house on the day appointed, at 
a very early hour, and found the old fellow waiting for 
us, with “ Fiddler Bill” hitched at the gate. 

“You can’t see yer Aunt Hetty, ’Squire,” he said, 
“ for she’s laid up with a pain in her jaw. It’s swelled 
mighty bad, enny how, and makes her look so much 
better, ’twouldn’t be no curiosity to see her now — so 
we may as well ride. Another time when she’s at her- 
self — and her « ugly’ out in full bloom, I’ll show her 
to you — he ! he ! yah ! That bonnet o’ hern, too, hit’s 
some. ’Tain’t like nothin’ ever growed, except the 


A HIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 


89 


baskets the Injin wimmin makes to tote their young 
ones in !” And the old rascal laughed at his wife and 
her bonnet, until the woods rang again. 

Walking our horses leisurely along the road leading 
down the creek to the river, Uncle Kit, tapping his 
steed lightly across the neck with his switch, began, 
as he had promised, to tell us how he obtained him. 

You see, ’squire, me and my Jim was a haulin’ a 
load of whiskey up from Wetumpky, in the spring of 
’36, and we had a mighty dull old horse under the sad- 
dle. The like of him never was on the yeth for hard 
trottin’. He was powerful hard. You’ve set and 
watched a saw-mill gate jerk up and down, havn’t 
you ? — up and down, up and down, like it was goin’ 
into fits ? Well, that was his motion adzactly, Ses 
Jim, one day, ‘Daddy I’m gwine to sw^op ‘old Cuss’ 
off, fust chance I git.’ Ses I, ‘Nobody’s fool enough 
to give you anything better’n an old cow for him.’ 
Ses he, ‘ You’ll see.’ Well ’twarn’t long afore we 
ketcht up with a traveller — it was in the piney woods 
’twixt Oakfuskee and Dudley ville — walkin’ and leadin’ 
his horse, which was Fiddler Bill. I’ll tell you ’squire,” 
— old Kit raised his voice and gesticulated vehemently 
— “ he was a horse then — none o’ your little grays — as 
Homer Hinds ses — but a reg’lar horse, with head and 
legs like a deer, a body like a barrel, and put up like a 
jack-screw. He wos jist risin’ four year old, fat, and 
hilt his head like the Queen of Sheby ! 

“ So Jim bantered the stranger purty quick for a swap 
— but fust we found out he was walkin’ bekase he w^as 
afeard of his horse. He was a Norrud raised man and 
talked mighty proper — he said his horse was ‘ very rest- 
8 * 


90 A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 

ed’ — which you might see he had been layin’ by corn 
and fodder for some time — and had throwed him and 
disculpated his shoulder a’ most ! • Then he axed us 
about the Injuns — this was jist afore the infernal devils 
began their devilment, and the thing had leaked out 
and was talked of, all over the country — and Jim seein’ 
he was of eared of them too, let on like they was mighty 
thick and hostile in them woods. 

« Stranger,’ says he, ‘ what would you do ef you 
was to see a red-skin peepin’ from behind that big pine 
yonder — and you afeard o’ your horse !’ 

‘ God only knows,’ ses the Yanky. 

‘‘ ‘ Well now ni tell you,’ ses Jim, ‘ thar'^s a horse 
under that saddle’ — p’intin’ to « old Cuss’ — « that could 
take you outen the way like goose-grease ! How’ll you 
trade ?’ 

««The Yanky let on like he tho’t his horse was the 
most vallyble, but Jim out-talked him to "3eth. He 
praised old Cuss, ’twell I had to go behind the wagin 
and laugh. Bime-by ses he, ‘ ain’t that a Injun holler,'^ 
and with that the stranger looked white, and axed Jim 
how he'^d trade ? 

i You must give me ten dollars to boot,’ ses Jim. 

“ ‘ But my horse is the most vallyble,’ ses the Yanky. 

“ ‘ He ain’t half-broke,’ ses Jim, « and I’d be most 
afeard to ride him — let’s see !’ 

With that Jim gits on the roan, and tetched him in 
the flank with the heel that was on t’other side from the 
stranger, and the horse bein’ naterally playful, you see, 
went to kickin’ up and rearin’ and squealin’ ; Jim hold- 
in’ on to the mane, and the Yanky hollerin’ < wo ! wo !’ 
Presently Jim come to the ground, ca-whop ! And with 


A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 91 

that he riz from the ground, complainin’ rnightly ’bout 
his side, and ’lowed he wouldn’t have the horse on no 
terms — that ef the Injuns was to come on us of a sud- 
den, we shouldn’t have but one horse that could be rid ; 
and then he axed me ef I had enny opydildock in the 
wagin box, that he could rub his side with ! he ! he ! 
Jim is a rascal, that’s a fac, but I can’t tell whar he got 
it from, onless it’s a judgemm^ on his mammy for bein’ 
so cussed ugly ! yah ! yah ! 

Sein’ the stranger was aggravated ’bout the Injuns, 
I draps in then, myself, and tells him I’d give him ‘ old 
Cuss,’ even drag, for the roan ; and we made the trade 
mighty quick, for he had the Injun ager ’twell his eyes 
was big as sassers! Well, we changed saddles and 
bridles, and while I was gearin’ up Fiddler Bill, he 
couldn’t — but ’squire, what do you reckon it was he 
couldn’t do ?” 

Can’t guess,” we replied. 

«« Well, bust me wide open, ef he knowed how to put 
the bridle on his horse ! I’ve seen men that was ig’nant, 
before, but he was the wust .off with it I ever seed. He 
didn’t know whether the bits went behind the years, or 
into the mouth — blamed ef he did ! 

‘‘Finally, at last, he got mounted, and jogged off— 
you remember what I told you ’bout the saw- mill gate 
— well that’s the way old Cuss rattled his buttons. He 
was the most lonesome-lookin' critter, a-settin’ on that 
old horse, with his new saddle and bridle, that ever I 
seed ! As soon as he got cleverly out o’ sight, Jim gin 
two or three Injun whoops, and people did say in Dud- 
leyville, whar he stopped that night, that he got thar in 
mighty reasonable, good time ! So that’s the way. 


92 


A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 


’squire, I come by Fiddler Bill aint it Bill ?” 

whereupon Fiddler pricked up his ears, but said 
nothing. 

About this time, we arrived at a mean-looking shan- 
ty, and calling, were answered by a man who came out 
to us. It was Jim Blake. 

“ Here’s the smsw-taker,” said Uncle Kit. 

«« D — n the sensw- taker,” was the blunt reply. 

“ Don’t say that, Jim,” returned Uncle Kit ; “ he’s a 
good little Union ’squire Mr. Van Buren’s sent round to 
take ’count of the cloth and chickens, jist to see ef the 
wimmin’s sprightly.” 

“ I don’t care a dried-apple d — n, for him nor Mr. 
Van Buren nother,” said Mr. Blake ; «« Mr. Van Buren 
is gittin too cussed smart, enny way — my opinion is, 
he’s a measly hog .”’ 

Son ! son !” exclaimed old Kit, deprecatingly, 

don’t talk that w^ay. Van Buren’s the Union Presi- 
dent, and Old Hickory says he’ll do !” 

don’t care who says he’ll do — I’m gwine to vote 
for Harrison — see ef I don’t !” 

Uncle Kit was struck dumb, and after obtaining a 
list of the family with much difficulty, we rode away. 

’Squire,” said the old man, after a long silence, 
«« that fellow’s talk goes to my heart. A little more 
and he^d a cussed old Hickory ! and ef he had^ by the 
God that made me, I’d a tore his liver out !” Old Kit 
was highly excited — he continued — ‘‘ to think that a 
boy I’ve raised in a manner, that I’ve told all about old 
Hickory and the Union and New Orleens and the Horse 
Shoe, should ’a turned round and come to be a JVullifi- 


A RIDE OLD KIT KUNCKER. 93 

er ! Aint thar no way’’ — he asked, as if musing — « we 
could fix to git that poor fool boy straight agin ?” 

We soon got into the thickest of the Union Creek set- 
tlement, and from house to house, through the Smithsj 
the Hearns, the Folsoms, the Narons, the Dabbses and 
the Rollinses, Uncle Kit carried us with a speed that 
was most gratifying. He joked the old women, kissed 
the girls and fondled the children ; and where the slight- 
est indisposition was manifested to give the desired 
information, he settled the difficulty at once, by the 
magic words, “ Union — old Hickory.” 

It’s a blessed thing, ’squire,” he said, «« to have a 
man’s friends all of the right sort. Here’s my people 
that I brought from Georgy — cuss that boy Blake, I’ll 
give him a reg’lar talk, next Sunday ; and ef that don’t 
do I’ll make his wife quit him — all my people, as I was 
sayin’, that love the Union and vote like one man ! I 
tell you, it’s old Union Crick that keeps the Nullifiers 
down in Tallapoosy !” 

As old Kit was indulging in these pleasant reflec- 
tions and remarks, we reached the ford of the creek, 
where we were to cross to get into the river settlement. 

“ Right here,” said the old man, as we reached the 
middle of the stream, «« was where Becky Kent ketched 
it ; but she lives right up thar, a piece, and I’ll see ef 
I can’t devil her into tollin’ you ’bout it. She’s as old 
and as ugly — mighty nigh — as yer Aunt Hetty ; but 
she has a mighty notion of courtin’, and ef you’ll sidle 
up to her, it’ll please her so well, her tongue will git to 
goin’, and she couldn’t hold that story back ef she 
wanted to.” 

A very few minutes brought us to the residence of 


94 : A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 

Mr. James Kent, the brother of the spinster Becky. 

• Unfortunately — or perhaps fortunately for our heart — 
the presiding goddess was not at home ; and having 
made the proper entries on our books, from information 
furnished by Mr. Kent, we again mounted and pursued 
our way. 

‘‘ Did you see,” asked Uncle Kit, that old snuff- 
bottle and them nasty breshes, stickin’ in the cracks of 
the logs.? Well, it’s on the ’count of sich, that Becky 
got in the crick, that time. I’ll tell you ’bout it my- 
self, ’long as we didn’t see her. 

See, I had allers ’cused Becky of snuff, but the 
lyin’ heifer never would own to it. So one day, as I 
was ridin’ ’long the road, t’other side of the crick, I 
hearn a noise betwixt the bray of the jack and the 
squeal of the pea-fowl, and in a minit I knowed it was 
somebody in distress — so I hurried on. When I got to 
the crick, what should it be but scrawny Becky Kent, 
settin’ on a bag o’ corn, on her old blind horse, and 
him a standin’ stock-still in the middle of the ford.” 

«« Becky, ses I, what in natur are you doin’ thar.? 
Why don’t you come along out?” 

Ses she, I canH — don’t you see how I’m fixed ?” 

“ Then I looked more pertickler, and seed how ’twas. 
The horse had stopped to drink, and Becky had let go 
the bridle, and when she tried to git it agin, the bag 
slipped furder over to the side she warnH a settin’ on — 
so when I got thar, she had let all go hut the bag, and 
she was a settin’ on one eend o’ that, loanin’ forward, 
and with her hands behind her, one to each side o’ the 
bag, a’ pullin’ agin the weight of the big eend, ’twell 
her face was as red as a gobbler’s snout. ’Twas a 


A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 


95 


reg’lar dead strain — the weight of Beck and the little 
eend of the bag, agin the big eend — and, I tell you, she 
had to lean well forward to keep from goin’ over back- 
wards !” 

“ I bulged into the crick and got purty close to 
Becky ; but it was so funny, I couldn’t fetch myself to 
help her, but tho’t Fd devil hur a little, as she sef So 
ses I, making a fine bow, 

“ My honey, my love, 

My turkle dove, 

. Will you take it amiss, 

Ef I give you a kiss 

“ But I hadn’t no idee of kissin’ of her — but only 
wanted to devil her a little. At last, I seen an old 
mustard-bottle stickin’ from out her bosom ; and ses I, 
Miss Becky, will you give your Uncle Kit a pinch of 
snuff? Ses she, help me, for the Lord’s sake — Fm 
mighty nigh gin out — and, ’Squire, she was on a tre~ 
menjus strain ! But I tho’t Fd plague her some ; and 
after cutting of some few shines, I made a motion to 
snatch at the bottle o’ snuff! She gin a little jerk back ! 
— the big eend got a start ! — still she hilt her grip with 
both hands ! — and the next thing, somethin* riz in the 
air, like a small cloud of calico and dry corn-stalks ! — 
and the durndest ca-slosh on t’other side o’ the horse, 
that ever you heerd 1 A — waugh I What sloshiii* /” 

“ Horraw, Becky! rise, gall! I was lookin’ t’other 
way ! ses I, for I knowed she was * shamed ! I laughed, 
however, and she mighty nigh cussed !” 

Oh, you’re a sweet little mare-maid now, ses I.” 

«« You’re a drotted old hog, ses she.” 

^‘My honey, my love, my turkle-dove, don’t git mad 


96 A RIDE WITH OLD KIT KUNCKER. 

with yer Uncle Kit, ses I ; but it all wouldn’t do, and 
the heiffer never got in a good humour with me ’twell 
I met her in the road one Sunday, and persuaded her 
I was goin’ to send Jim to see her.” 

“ Did you send him 

<«Yes, and the fust thing the fool said to her, was, 
he^d a gin his years to ’a seen her heels jly ap^ that time, 
in the crick ! he ! he ! yah ! yah ! That busted things 
to the devil again, and me and Becky ain’t more’n half 
friendly now !” 

After going through the entire settlement, with great 
ease and celerity — thanks to Uncle Kit’s assistance — 
we took the back-track to Mr. Kuncker’s. It was quite 
dark when we arrived. As Uncle Kit threw down our 
saddles in his porch, said he, I didn’t tell you, 
’Squire, to-day, about how old Henry Teel larnt to 
make soap out’n sal sody, and how he sold the reseet to 
old Mrs. Spraggins, and what a devil of a paddlin’ the 
old woman gin him with the battlin’-stick, when she 
found the soap would shrink — did I? Well, come in, 
and we’ll take a sip of hranch-water, and I’ll norate it 
to you. Hello, old woman — is yer face swelled enny 
better yet.^ — Here’s the ’Squire — the little blessed Union 
’Squire — come to see you ! Ef you can’t git out’n bed 
to come yerself, make one of the gals fetch yer old 
bonnet out — thaVW be some amusement/ Walk in, 
’Squire, and take a seat in yer old Union Uncle’s 
house !” 


JIM WILKINS AND THE EDITORS. 


During the exciting Presidential campaign of 1844, 
there were published in a thriving village in this State, 
two political papers, which (as ’twould not be proper to 
give the real names,) we will call the Star” and the 
“Gazette/’ The “Star” was a Democratic sheet; 
and of course battled enthusiastically for Mr. Polk. 
The “ Gazette,” on the other hand, was thoroughly 
Whig, and no more — at the period to which we refer — 
doubted the election of Henry Clay, than it did the 
shining of the sun, or any other “ fixed” physical fact. 
These two papers were edited by gentlemen of about 
the same age, and of not dissimilar temperaments. In 
fact they had, both, strong social proclivities, and were 
very good friends, nine-tenths of the time ; there being 
only an occasional interruption of good feeling, when 
something rather too “ spicy” appeared in the columns 
of one paper or the other. These disagreeable things, 
however, became more frequent as the political battle 
waxed hotter ; but even then, at the end of every week, 
there was a general adjustment of all personal matters 
— the boys Picicwicked, and — shall I tell it.^ generally 
got gloriously fuddled together. They both, I believe, 
do better now, but then ! ah, the headaches ! 

One Saturday afternoon, at the end of a particularly 
9 (97) 


98 


JIM WILKINS AND THE EDITORS. 


spicy week between the papers — the Star having spo- 
ken of the « damask cheek of its neighbour,” and the 
Gazette having retorted upon the ‘‘ Bardolphian nose” 
of the Star’s editor — the two gentlemen were seen to 
enter an establishment where ‘‘ sugar and water with 
the privilege'*^ might be obtained in one room, and a 
game of billiards played in another. They had had, 
perchance, an explanation, in which mutual declara- 
tions of Pickwick had been made. However, they 
went in lovingly, arm in arm. 

Walking up to the bar. 

What shall it be ?” asked Star. 

Cocktails,” said Gazette ; and cocktails it was. 

“ Here,” said Star, touching the rim of his compa- 
nion’s glass with the bottom of his own; “here is to 
the Freedom of the Press, whether the same advocate 
the claims of the exalted patriot James K. Polk;- or 
takes ground for the embodiment of all that is ” 

“ Hold on there ! You’ll be on my toes directly,” 
exclaimed the Gazette; “ drink simply to the freedom 
of the Press ; though onig would think it was sufficient- 
ly difree thing already, seeing how many take the papers 
without paying for them !” 

“ The freedom of the press, then !” 

“ The freedom of the press!” 

Having deposited their cocktails, our worthies agreed 
to play a game of billiards, and passing into the back- 
room, closed and locked the glass door behind them, 
and adjusted the curtain so as to conceal themselves as 
much as possible. About the same time they had done 
this, Jim Wilkins, a strong Whig, and one of the Ga- 


JIM WILKINS AND THE EDITORS. 99 

zette’s subscribers, came in to take a stirrup cup. Jim 
was already quite groggy. 

I’ll meet you on fair terms, but you shan’t have all 
advantage,” said Gazette, in a loud, excited tone. 

“ Well, let’s toss up for choice of ball,” rejoined Star, 
petulantly — «« one of us must have the broken one.” 

“ What’s that.^” asked Wilkins in the bar-room, 
pricking up his ears ; “ aint that them eddyturs 

“ It’s no business of yours,” replied the bar-keeper 
to Jim ; “they’re only settling some private business.” 

is my business,” said Jim, eagerly, and he 
pressed closely to the door, to hear more distinctly — 
“ it is my business !” “ Go it. Gazette ! Pin wi’ ye ! 

balls or no balls ! Sticks or knives ! Fight him enny 
way he wants to !” 

Clack-lack! went the billiard balls. 

“ Then I took you, you red-mouthed locofoco !” ex- 
claimed Gazette triumphantly. 

“ Stand up to him, my little coon!” shouted Jim — 
“them’s the licks! Hoorow for Henry Clay of Ken- 
tucky! Open the door, or I’ll bust it down! Fair 
play !” 

“ If you’ll ever leave me a cannon f said Star, with 
feeling, “ I’ll give you the devil.” 

“ Cannons or pocket pistols! Fight him emiy way 
he wants to^ my crowin’ Clay-bird !” roared Jim, almost 
frenzied — “ hoop-a-diddle !” 

“ Keep still, you jackass,” said the bar- keeper ; “ they 
don’t want your interference.” 

“You’ll run out your string before I get another lick,” 
said Star. 

“I’ll be 


if he ever runs,” shouted the excited 


100 JIM WILKINS AND THE EDITORS. 

Wilkins — ef he does I’ll cut his throat myself. Stand 
up, my little ring tail, ’tell I git in to you.” Jim vio- 
lently shoved the door, and bar-keeper collared him ; 
whereupon, there was a considerable scuffle, Jim shout- 
ing, stick to him, little one — draw your knife — hash 
him !” 

All this while the clacking of the balls, and the fre- 
quent violent exclamations of the players, confirmed 
Wilkins’s illusion that a fight growing out of politics, 
was going on. But he could not release himself from 
the grasp that held him !” 

At length the Gazette exclaimed : 
give in — whipped! — let’s liquor!” 

The whole expression of Jim’s countenance changed 
— his struggling ceased. 

“ WhaVs that.?” he asked, in a low, doubting tone. 

Your man’s whipped,” was the reply of the bar- 
keeper, to humour the joke. 

Mr. Wilkins w’alked away from the door, and took a 
position in the middle of the room, with folded arms. 
Presently the editors came ou^ and instantly decanters 
and glasses were in requisition. 

As they were about to drink, Wilkins stepped up, 
and attracting the attention of Gazette — 

«« Stop Jim Wilkins’s paper,” said he. 

«« Very good,” was the reply. 

Jim walked to the door and then walked back : 

Stop my paper — you understand.” 

“ Certainly. But you seem excited ; what’s to pay .?’ 

«« It’s well enough,” returned Jim, white with rage 
and indignation ; “ it’s well enough after alVs said and 
done for you to ax me what’s to pay ! But I can tell 


JIM WILKINS AND THE EDITORS. 101 

you ! In the fust and fomost place, you let that feller,” 

pointing to Star, « whip you like a ! In the second 

place you hollered like a dog, and then you treated to 
git friends again! I say, stop .my paper ! I won!t read 
arter no sich a cow^ardly, no count, sow-pig of an eddy- 
tur!” And Jin> took himself off in high dudgeon. 

The freedom of the Press for ever!” shouted the 

Star. 

“ For ever !” responded Gazette. 

And the frolic the boys held that Saturday night, was 
a regular old-fashioned affair. For a month after- 
wards, you might have squeezed brandy out of the 
pores of either, as you do the juice out of a fresh 
orange. 


9 % 


COL. HAWKINS AND THE COUET- 


Some years ago, I knew an individual whose sobriquet 
was ‘‘ Col. Hawkins,” and who was the most perfect 
specimen of the dare-devil frontier-man, that I ever 
saw, at least in Alabama. His real name was Jim 
Fielder — to which his neighbours frequently added the 
expressive prefix ‘‘Devil.” And he loas a devil, fear- 
ing neither God, man, nor beast, and if not invulnera- 
ble, possessing at least a tenacity of life that was most 
astonishing. He had been once struck down with a 
broadaxe, and his brain absolutely cloven to a consi- 
derable depth, and for several inches in length ; yet he 
made no particular difficulty of surviving, and that, too, 
with all his faculties uninjured. 

The “ Colonel” being what, in his region and times, was 
called a cow-driver, had cultivated the art of equitation, 
until he and his favourite bay, whom he named “He//,” 
had become a perfect centaur. No feat was too difficult for 
them. I have seen them myself do things which would 
make the gallant Col. May’s blood run cold. Hell was 
the most perfectly trained animal that I ever saw ; fol- 
lowed his master like a dog, and when the Colonel got 
drunk and lay in the road, would stand by him and 
guard him for hours. 

“ Col. Hawkins” used to be very fond of attending 

( 102 ) 


COL. HAWKINS AND THE COURT. 103 

the circuit courts of his county, at which, after a time, 
he became an insufferable nuisance. The sheriffs were 
always afraid of him ; the tavern-keepers dreaded him ; 
and the judge never could get hold of him. In one of 
his mad freaks, I have seen him, while court was in 
session, mounted on ‘«Hell,” charge up to the steps, 
and into one door of the court-house, dash furiously 
along the aisle, and, with a tremendous leap, clear the 
steps out of the other. 

I remember well the first session at which I ever saw 
him. Court w’as held, temporarily, in a two-story 
wooden building ; one end of which rested on the 
ground ; the other ^the front) being on brick- work, or 
blocks, two or three feet high. A judge was presiding, 
whose distinguishing trait was a tyrannical petulance — 
a judicial wasp, whose sting was ever protruding. His 
’Honour, however, met his match in “ Col. Hawkins,” 
and, no doubt, thinks of him to this day with emotions 
of horror. 

For the first day or two of the court, our hero, being 
rather sober, behaved remarkably well ; but about the 
middle of the week he got on a regular frolic, and im- 
mediately turned his attention to the disturbance of the 
court. For this purpose, he had prepared a number of 
loaves of bread, and collecting all -the-" scraps of the 
kitchen of his tavern, he proceeded to “fort” himself 
under the court-house. His citadel was impregnable 
on one side, by reason of the house having one end on 
the ground ; and all the other approaches the Colonel 
industriously fortified by building walls of large rocks ; 
leaving only a single entrance, and a few port-holes 


104 COL. HAWKINS AND THE COURT. 

through which he might cast his missiles at any adven- 
turous besieger. 

Here it must be remarked, that the town was parti- 
cularly populous in the dog way — if that be not a sole- 
cism — and Jim being aware of the fact, had provided 
himself with a hunting horn, an instrument on which he 
was a most capital performer. There were in the vil- 
lage, at the time, I think, three full packs of hounds ; 
and as to the curs, though I never took their census, I 
can certify that they were multitudinous. 

Prepared now, at all points, the Colonel took his 
place within his “ fort,” and waited until a sound of 
bustling from above indicated that the court was trans- 
acting business. Then, toot, toot, to-too, to4oo — toot, 
toot toot ! went his horn. 

.Three “ several and distinct” simultaneous howls 
from different quarters of the town, responded to the* 
blast ! . ■ • ^ 

Toot ! toot ! to-too ! to-too ! toot ! toot ! toot ! ' 

Again three dire howls responded ; but this time they 
seemed converging to a common centre — Jim’s suhcu- 
ri-an fortification. 

“ My God, Mr. Sheriff,” said the little tiger on the 
bench, ‘‘ what is all that blowing and howling about ?” 

“ I s’pose,” replied the Sheriff, with a w;ild look, for 
he knew the Tartar he had to deal with, “I s’pose it’s 
a comp’ny of hunters going out after deer.” 

Wd” — the Judge invariably sounded the e in well-, 
a short — « Wal, mJ^God ! do the hunters in this country 
hunt on the public square ?” 

Toot ! toot ! toot ! to-to-to-to-to-to-hoot ! went Jim’s 
horn again ; and the hounds, with a multitude of their 


COL. HAWKINS AND THE COURT. 105 

half-brethren of low degree,” having by this time 
assembled under the house, sent up a long, a loud, and 
a most deafening response. Jim then gave them all 
some bread and meat-scraps, in token of their approval. 
He then blew “ another blast,” and again fifty or sixty 
canine throats belched forth the hideous sounds ! 

My God ! Mr. Sheriff, I fine you ten dollars,” said 
the irritated Judge — Go and stop that noise.” 

The Sheriff went down, and having ascertained the 
strength of the Colonel’s position, endeavoured to coax 
him o-ut. 

“ Come out, Jim, old fellow, and I’ll stand a treat; 
I will, by George !” 

‘‘Toot! toot!” was the reply; and then the howl 
from the dogs, who began “to let themselves out.” 

. The Judge fined the first deputy, up stairs, five 
dollars, for the new attack upon his nerves. 

Several adventurous special deputies at length went 
under; to take our hero “ by storm ;” but they very soon, 
returned with bruised heads and defiled clothing. Jim, 
wifh inimitable sang froid^ held the horn to his mouth 
with one hand, while with the other he sent his rocks 
wfith terrible effect at his assailants. His allies, too, 
the dogs, gave him occasional sly assistance, by nib- 
bling at the more exposed parts of the persons of the 
invaders ; and these being obliged to go “ upon all- 
fours,” under the house, these “ attacks in the rear” 
were in the highest degree vexatious and unpunishable. 

Toot! toot! toot! 

Howl ! howl ! howl ! 

The contagion spread to the crowd assembled on the 
public square. 


106 


COL. HAWKINS AND THE COURT. 


^^And each — for madness ruled the hour — 

Would try his own expressive pow’r.” 

Yell after yell went up from the crowd ! All was 
confusion ; and as peal after peal of the odd and min- 
gled discord floated up, roar after roar of unsuppressed 
laughter shook the court-room ! 

The Judge was pale with rage. Every fibre of his 
frame trembled with excitement ; but he • could only 
fine — so he fined the Sheriff an hundred dollars for re- 
porting the Colonel’s fort impregnable, himself invinci- 
ble, and his forces determined to stand to him, to a dog! 
He then adjourned court, «« until the nuisance could be 
abated.” 

As soon as the Colonel perceived that he bad stopped 
all legal' proceedings, he suspended his blasts, and 
dealt out double rations to his forces. From one of the 
port-holes in front, observing that the Judge was stroll- 
ing about on the square, and that the Sheriff was con- 
sulting with a dozen or so of friends^ he w’atched his 
opportunity, Korn in hand, he slipped out, unperceived 
except by friends, and reached his steed, which xvas 
tied in the bushes near by. Mounting Hell,” be 
blew a -blast so loud and long,” that every hound re- 
sponded at once, and in a moment more, dashed in 
upon the square, with his followers in full cry ! Here 
he went, «« like mad,” now clearing an old woman and 
her cake-stand at a jump, and now bounding lightly 
over a group of a half dozen on a fallen log. Ye gods! 
how the crowd scattered ! Espying the Judge, he 
dashed up to him — circled round him, in Cumanchee 
style, and blowing his horn the while, evoked the most 
hideous howls from his troop ! Round and round he 


COL. HAWKINS AND THE COUBT. 107 

dashed — the judge petrified in the centre, pawed, 
mouthed, and smelt of by the hounds, and stunned — 
overpowered, by their hideous din ! Never before (I 
speak metaphorically) was the ermine so villanously 
defiled ! 

Having accomplished his purpose of ‘‘ bedeviling” a 
Judge, who had the reputation of being a martinet, 
Jim retreated, in good order, from the square to the 
thicket at the back of the court-house. He knew what 
would follow, and fully prepared for it. He had pro- 
cured him a whiskey-barrel, minus one head, and, a foot 
or so above the bung-hole, had cut an opening about 
six inches in diameter. By small cords he had at- 
tached to the outside of the barrel two large bundles 
of fodder, a fragment of old stove-pipe, and three super- 
annuated coffee-pots. 

As soon as Jim had left the square, the Judge ordered 
the Sheriff to summon a posse^ and take him, at all 
risks — and the Sheriff instantly summoned twenty or 
thirty of the hundreds who had horses hitched on the 
square, and ordered them into line to receive his direc- 
tions. The Judge borrowed a pony, to go along and 
see his inandate executed. 

Jim, who had been watching their operations slily, as 
soon as they seemed nearly complete, blew a blast, 
mounted ‘‘ Hell,” and drawing the barrel up after him, 
placed it over himself ; and taking the reins through 
the hole, rode leisurely on, till in view of the Sheriff’s 
squad, when, with a loud toot, a howl from his dogs, 
the rustling of his fodder, the clangour of his coffee- 
pots, .and the sonorous ^o?i^-notes of his stove-pipe, he 


108 COL. HAWKINS AND THE COURT. 

charged at full speed upon the Sheriff and his posse 
comitatus ! 

Talk of May ! Talk of Murat ! There was never a 
charge so reckless or effective as Jim Fielder’s charge 
upon the sheriff and his squad. 

Toot! toot! toot! bang! clang! bang! howl! howl! 
howl ! and he was in their midst ! The horses of the 
squad, maddened with fright, reared and plunged, and 
either threw their riders, or dashed off with them pre- 
cipitately from the field. The horses hitched about at 
racks and trees, participated in the panic, and in five 
Seconds there was a universal stampede. 

The Judge’s pony dashed off with a speed that was 
highly creditable to his short legs and Indian origin ; 
and after him the Colonel dashed, with all his dreadful 
din, in full blast ! On, on, on ! at a killing lick ! Down, 
down the hill to the old tan-yard ! — where suddenly 
Judge and pony find a « tight fit” in an ancient, but 
not inodorous vat ! 

Satisfied — almost — with his victory, our hero charged 
back to town — putting to flight everything equine, of 
which he came in view, and leaping his horse into the 
piazza of a grocery, pitched his barrel through the win- 
dow upon the head, and other frangible property of the 
proprietor — like lightning passed in at one door and out 
at another — and whooping at the top of his voice, rode 
furiously out of town. 


THE ERASIVE SOAP MAN. 

The itinerant fellows who frequent our village^5 dur- 
ing the sessions of the Courts, and on all other occa- 
sions of popular assembling — vending their small 
wares, a la the Razor-Strop man — are sometimes very- 
amusing. We noticed one of ’em, last’ week, crying 
his evasive soap to as simple a crowd as we have observed 
in some time. He was a sharp-eyed fellow, with a 
sanctified look, black whiskers, and a still blacker and 
enormous straw hat. 

Gentlemen,” he said, or rather sang — gentlemen, 
I offer you a splendid article, a superb article, an incom- 
parable article — magical, radical, tragical article!” 
[Here he displayed a cake of his soap.] “Magical, 
radical, tragical, evasive soap! Yes, in its effects upon 
its inventor most tragical! Shall I tell you how.^ It 
was invented by a celebrated French chemist, after 
twenty years of toil, labour and privation. In just fifteen 
minutes, two seconds and a half after the discovery, he 
fell into the arms of death, and his name became im- 
mortal! You can dra\v your own conclusions, gentle- 
men ! 

“ Magical, radical, tragical, e-ra-sive soap ! Dime 
a- cake ! Hand me the money ! — served me right — 
there’s the soap ! Yes, there’s a man has got a cake of 
10 ( 109 ) 


no 


THE ERASIVE SOAP MAN. 


the incomparable, inappreciable, infallible, invaluable, 
magical, radical, tragical, e-ra-sive soap ! 

“ Gentleman, you’d open your eyes, if I were to tell 
you half the wonders performed by this in-com-pa-rable 
article. — It cleans oil-spots, removes stains, hides dirt, 
brightens good colours and obliterates ugly ones! — 
such is the virtue of the all-healing, never-failing, spot- 
removing, beauty-restoring, health-giving, magical, ra- 
dical, tragical, e-ra-sive Soap!” The vender wiped 
his brow, heaved a sigh, and recommenced, standing 
at ease against a piazza-post. 

“ Why, gentlemen, when I first became acquainted 
with this inextollable gift of divine Providence to err- 
ing man, I had an obstruction of the vocal organs, an 
impediment of speech, that bid fair to destroy the hopes 
of the fond parents who intended me for the bar or the 
pulpit. I was tongue-tied — but I came across this pre- 
cious compound — swallowed just half an ounce, and 
ever since, to the satisfaction of my parents, myself, 
and an assembled world, I have been volubly, rapidly, 
and successfully, interminably, unremittingly, most 
eloquently, sounding the praises of the incomparable, 
infallible, inimitable, inappreciable, never-failing, all- 
healing, spot-removing, beauty-restoring, magical, ra- 
dical, tragical, erasive soap ! * 

‘‘ Ah, gentlemen, a world without it would be 
naught ! It. takes the stains from your breeches, the 
spots from your coat, removes the dirt, and diffuses a 
general cheerfulness over the character of the whole 
outer man! True, gentlemen. I’ve worn the forefinger 
of my right-hand to the first joint, in illustrating the 
efficacy of this ineffable compound ; but I hold that the 


THE ERASIVE SOAP MAN. 


Ill 


forefinger of one man — yea, or the forefinger of ten 
MEN — are as nothing when compared with the peace 
and welfare of society and the world ! 

Oh, magical Soap! oh, radical Soap! oh, tragical 
Soap ! What wonders thou dost perform ! The fright- 
ened locomotive leaves its track {as it were) on thy ap- 
proach ! The telegraphic wires tremble and are dumb 
in thy presence ! 

Why, gentlemen, it clears the complexion of a 
nigger, and makes a curly-headed man’s hair straight ! 
It removes the stains from the breeches and the 
spots from your coats — in like manner, it purifies the 
conscience and brightens the character! If you’re 
a little dishonest or dirty, try it ! If your reputation or 
clothing is a little smutted. I’ll warrant it! For ladies 
whose slips — I mean these little brown, yellow, white, 
blue, and many-coloured slippers — have become soiled, 
it is the only cure, panacea, medicamentum, vade- 
mecum, in all globular creation. Then come up, tum- 
ble up, run up, and jump up, like Hung’ry patriots, and 
buy my incomparable, infallible, ineffable, inapprecia- 
ble, coat-preserving, beauty-restoring, dirt-removing, 
speech-improving, character-polishing, virtue-impart- 
ing, all-healing, never-failing, magical, radical, tragi- 
cal, compound, ERASIVE Soap !” 

Here Hard- Cheek’s oratory was interrupted by a 
shower of dimes from boys, men, and hobble-de-hoys, 
and the « show” was considered closed.” 


CAPTAIN M’SPADDEN, 

THE IRISH GENTLEMAN IN PURSHUTE OF A SCHULE. 

I WILL endeavour to chalk out for our readers, a rough 
sketch of Captain M’Spadden, an Irish gentleman who 
visited our town, not long since, while on a pedestrian 
tour through the piney woods, in search of a location 
for a ‘‘ bit of a schule.” 

We were not looking for Captain M’Spadden. He 
oame among us unexpected, unannounced. Living 
fish sometimes drop from the clouds ; and there is no 
particular reason why M’Spadden might not have made 
his entry in the same liiinner — for he was an odd fish — 
except that the weather was quite fair at the time ; no 
vapour at all competent to the transportation of an Irish- 
man, weighing an hundred and odd pounds, having 
been seen for several days previously. It was therefore 
presumed (in the absence of the possession of any quad- 
rupedal chattel by Mac), that he was on a pedestrian 
tour for amusement or business. Be this as it might, 
when first observed, the Captain was leaning against a 
tree at one corner of the public square. He had under 
one arm, a pair of corduroy breeches ; under the other 
an invalided boot. Mac himself, was a thin «« bit ov a 
crathur,’ with a light gray eye, white eye-brows, and de- 

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CAPTAIN M’SPADDEN. 


113 


licate, fair features. The restlessness of his glances, and 
the convulsive twitches of his facial nerves, showed that 
the poor fellow was suffering from incipient delirium tre- 
mens. As old Tom Martin would say, he had «« swal- 
lowed some monkey eggs, all along wid his bitthers, 
and they’d hatched a brood of live young divils to kape 
him in company.” 

Mac’s drapery was unique. He had on a marvel- 
lously dirty and ragged shirt, over which was a coat 
evidently cut for a much smaller individual than him- 
self ; the waist was just under his arms, while the extre- 
mity of the tail fell but a few inches below the small 
of the wearer’s back. His pantaloons, mud-coloured, 
were long-waisted and short-legged. On his left foot 
was the mate of the boot under his arm ; his right foot 
was bare, and as red as a beet. His silk hat had a 
turn-up of the rim. behind, and a m’ash-in of the crown 
before, and the absence of all gloss, and niany indenta- 
tions, showed that it had been a hat of many sorrows. 
Still it had a jaunty, impudent air, that showed that 
Mac considered himself <«one of ’em” — and as it 
perched itself over its owner’s left eye, any one could 
see that it was a hat of considerable character. 

One of the Captain’s conceits was, that he was pur- 
sued by a woman who claimed to be a relative, and 
demanded a provision for her support. With this dis- 
tressing idea in his mind, Mac leaned against a tree, as 
I have said, and addressed, alternately a group of little 
boys that were standing around him, and his imaginary 
female persecutor. 

«« Whist ! — aisy now ! — be aisy ! — I tell ye he said, 

addressing the apparition ; “ divil fly away wid the 
10 * 


114 


CAPTAIN M’SPADBEN. 


thing I have to give ye — for be the same token, it’s me 
own breakfast that I haven’t tasted the smell ov yet, this 
blessed bright mornin’.” 

Arrah, boys!” — this was to the youngsters ; I’ll 
form ye into a nate class, for sport, ye see. Come 
now, stand up, there! Be the Saints, I’d a jolly little 
schule, down below here. Heads up ! an’ I’ll flog the 
whole class for amusement, and niver a cent for your 
aflekshanate parints to pay.” 

The boys laughed, shouted, and broke ranks at this 
announcement; and Mac, scowling over his shoulder, 
again spoke to his feminine tormentor, as if in reply : 

« Wud I give ye a dollar to buy a dacint gown wid? 
— ye say ! Be me sowl, an it’s a nice word that dhrops 
so swate from yer mouth! Wud I give ye a dollar? — 
an wud a dog shaik his tail, that had niver a stump to 
wag, at all, at all ! 

‘‘ Avaunt and quit me sight — 

Thy bones are marrowless — thy blood is cold ! 

There is no speculation in those eyes 

Which thou dost glare with — and d — n ye, be off!” 

Just at this time a huge cross bull-dog (who no doubt 
felt an interest in remarks so personal to his species), 
walked up to Mac, and nosed him most impertinently. 
The Captain squirmed round the tree, looking thunder- 
bolts all the while, and the bull-dog followed, with still 
inquiring nose, and bristles all erect. 

« Begone ! ye baste ! It’s Captain Bland M’Spadden, 
of the Royal Irish Greys, that’s now willing to tache a 
dozen or so ov young gentlemen, arithmetic and man- 
ners, at two dollars the quarther — begone !” 


CAPTAIN M’SPADDEN. 


115 


Danger knows full well 
M’Spadden is more dangerous than he. 

We were two lions (be J — s, its thrue !) lithered in one day, 
And I the elder and more terrible 

Be St. Patrick, the ugly baste will tear me in 
paces !” 

But the dog was merciful ; and on concluding his 
examination, merely held up one hind leg significantly 
—as much as to say ((that for you!” — and walked 
away. 

(( Captain M’Spadden,” said a bystander, as Mac 
vainly essayed to set himself properly upon his pegs : — 
(( Havn’t you been crowding drinks, mightily, of late — 
rather pressing the figure — ;eh 

Bland looked around, and his eye fell on a tall, 
handsome, judicial-looking personage. 

(( Did I undherstand,” replied Mac ; (( did I undher- 
stand yer Honour to say, wud I taik a glass of whisky 
wid ye 

(( By no means,” was the reply ; (( but here’s a dime 
to buy yourself something to eat.” 

(( To ate, yer Honour.^ an me a dying wid the chol- 
ery.^ Bed ad, it’s the physic I’m afthur, to dhrive the 
bloody Jaand out ov me sistem wid 1” 

(( Did you ever have the cholera, Mac 
‘‘Ha! ha!” laughed Mac; “did iver I have the 
cholery.^ Did a fish swim.^ Be J — s, its fourteen 
times the nasty crathur has tuk tfie Gorjin knot upon 
me enthrils, and I faal the premonethory simtims rootin, 
this blessed minit, in me stomik, like pigs in a paa 
field. The cholery, indade !” 

Captain M’Spadden now marched into the grocery. 


116 


CAPTAIN m’SPADDRN. 


walked up to the bar, and looking the dealer in the 
face, asked, 

“ Did iver I see that eye, afore ?” 

‘‘ Quite likely,” replied Tap. 

May be it’s only me word for luck ye’d be takin’, 
this pleasint mornin’, for a dhrop ov the corn corjil — 
and me a sufferin’ in me bowils, wid the cholery ?” 

‘‘I’ll take the TTiOTiey,” quoth Tap, handing put a 
decanter, but keeping his hand upon itj as if waiting 
for payment. 

Mac threw himself in a tragic attitude, and drawing 
down his white eye-brows, until they overhung the tip 
pf his little red nose, he exclaimed, 

“ Hath a dog moneys ? Is it possible a cur can lend 
three thousand ducats? Holy faathers? I’ve but a bit 
ov a kine (coin) here, but the physic I must have, to be 
sure. Wud ye tell me where I can get a bit ov a schule 
to tache asthronomy, and Shaikspair, and manners, all 
for two dollars a quarthur?” 

“ D — n your duckets and your ‘ Schule’ too,” replied 
Tap ; “ hand over a picayune.” 

Mac handed over the money, and drank his whiskey ; 
and just as he was replacing the tumbler on the board, 
the female spectre peered over his shoulder, and he 
dropped the glass and broke it. 

“ Shadders avaunt!” shouted the Captain; “Tray, 
Blanche and Sweetheart, little dogs and all — sick ’em 
boys ! Hoot, away, ye ugly famale witch ! I’ve the 
cholery, I tell ye, an it’s ketchin’ enthirely !” 

“You’ve broken my tumbler,” said Tap, complain- 

ingly- 

“ Shaik not thy gaury locks at me ; thou canst not 


CAPTAIN M’SPADDBN. 117 

say I did it !” replied the Captain ; it was the sha 
divil that’s tazin’ the soul out ov me body!” 

Did you ever teach -school?” asked Tap, as 
M’Spadden blundered into a chair. 

Did I iver 9 Did the blessed Saint iver kill snakes i! 
Why, man. I’d a delightful little schule below here — 
fifteen or twenty’s as many boys as a wakely crat];iur, 
like meself, can do his duty by the flogging ov, and he 
to bate the big boys wid a stout shillaly — an I was 
tachin ’em illigint ; and ye may kiss the cross, the little 
darlints loved me, inthirely ; but it got broke up be an 
axident, be gorra.” 

How came that ?” 

Ye’ll taik' notice, I was dozin’ in me chair, one 
swate afthefnoon, dhramin’ away all about nothin’, an 
the little darlints that loved me as mother’s milk — for I 
tached ’em arethmetic, an asthronomy, and manners all, 
illigint — the little darlints, ye see, put a quill full ov 
snuff into me nostril, all for the fun. Holy J — s ! but 
I was in thrubble wid the snazin’, an cryin’, an sputter- 
in’ ; an the little darlints all tickled wid the sport. So, 
as soon as me eyes come to, I tuk the biggest ov the 
boys by the heels, inthirely, and I flogged the whole 
schule wdd his head an shoulders an arms. Be' J — s, 
they roared, an we kept up the sport an the fun, till 
divil the sound head was in the schule, barrin’ me own 
that was full ov snuff.” 

Then the parents drove you off?” 

«‘Faix! They hate me away,” said Mac sorrow- 
fully; “the ign’rant spalpeens, that couldn’t undher- 
stand a joke 


CAPTAIN m’SPADDEN. 


.118 

«tBut,”he continued, the diviPs been in it, iver 
since I lost my commission in the Royal Greys.” 

Let’s hear ’bout that,’’ said an honest inquirer after 
truth, as he sat lazily back, in his chair, with his broad- 
brimmed hat between his knees— <Uet’s hear ’bout 
that.” 

I’d tell ye in a minit,” replied Mac, ‘‘but — I’m 
monsthrous dry.” 

This objection to the narration having been removed 
by a half tumbler of ‘ corn corjil,’ Mac proceeded as 
follows, Broadbrim resting his face on his hands, in an 
attitude of deep attention : 

“ Ye’ll notice,” quoth the Captain, “I’d a company 
in the Royal Greys — ye’ve heard of the Royal Greys, 
belikes.^ — no.^ — thin I’ll tell ye, ’twas the clanest, 
natest, gintaalest ridgment in the kingdom, an its 
meself was the aquil ov the best in it. So one day, 
we’d a grate revue, an the Quane was out, an Prince 
Albert (may his sowl rest in purgathory, amen !) in her 
carriage to see it.” 

“ Did you ever see the Queen of England asked 
Broadbrim, as in doubt. 

“Did I iver see the Quane Did you ever put a 
petatie in the ugly hole in yer face } So the Quane 
w^as out, as fine as a flower, to see the revue. By an 
by, the Juke of Wellington comes to me, an ses he, 
‘ Mac, the Quane has kitcht a sight ov yer good looks, 
and wants ye to present yerself before her. — Thair’s 
luck for ye, me boy’ — -and the Juke slapped me on the 
shouldhers.” 

“ Was that the great Duke of Wellington, you’re 
talking about Did you know him ?” 


CAPTAIN m’SPADDEN. 


119 


«‘No less, be the cross! The Juke an me was as 
inthimate as brothers ; so we went to where the royal 
cortiz was, an thair was her majesty, in the royal car- 
riage, as lively as bricks and full ov fun. Ses she, 
<■ Captain M’Spadden, ye’ve a fine company 1’ — « Yer 
most grashus and amyable majesty!’ — ses I, gettin’ 
upon me knaas. 

‘‘ ‘ Wouldn’t ye like a bit ov promoshun. Captain 
M’Spadden ?’ says her majesty. 

‘ Yer most adorable majesty has guessed the sacrit 
of me heart,’ ses I. • . 

“ ‘ It’s the best lookin’ lad, ye are,’ Captain,’ sa^ fier 
majesty, ‘ I’ve seen this season.’ 

‘‘ ‘ I shall be at charges for a lookin’ glass, yer most 
heavenly majesty, since yer majesty ses so ; but its lit- 
tle the advantage I have ov yer most grashus majesty, 
in regard of looks,’ ses I. 

That last shot did the bis’ness for the Quane, 
but the Prince, ye’ll notice, was as savage as a tiger, 
judgin’ be his looks. — So I went back, an ses the 
Juke to me, < Mac, me boy, it’s all over wid ye — 
didn’t ye see Albert’s looks } He’s as jalous as the 
divil, and ye’ll have to lave the Ridgement to-mor- 
row !’ An bedad, so I had ; an here I am in purshute 
ov a bit ov a schule to tache fifteen or twenty boys 
grammar, an asthronomy, an manners, at two dollars 
a quarther” — and here Mac ‘‘soothed away;” into a 
gentle slumber, as he sat, with a conscience apparently 
at ease. 

“ I’ve hearn tales, and seen liars,” said Broadbrim, 
as he rose to order a glass of whiskey; “ and I have 


120 


CAPTAIN M’SPADDEN. 


beam « stretchin’ the blanket,’ and ‘ shootin’ with the 
long bow and I always thought we was great on that, 
in this here Ameriky, but I find it’s with liars, as with 
everything else, ef you want an extra article you must 
send to furrin parts /” 


THE ELEPHANT IN LA FAYETTE. 

Our county of Chambers has a very curiosity-loving 
population, and when the bills are stuck for a public 
execution of any sort, in any of our villages, no sort of 
weather can keep our people away. Magicians” 
charm, and « Circuses” entrance them — but a Mena- 
gerie almost throws them into spasms of delight. 

Some months ago, Raymond’s fine collection of ani- 
mals was shown in La Fayette, with the unusual attrac- 
tion of lion- tamers, male and female. On this feature 
of the exhibition, the public voice was loud, enthusi- 
astic, and eloquent, for several days before the Menagerie 
arrived. When it came, we visited it, in company 
with our waggish old Irish friend, Tom Martin — the 
same who told the story of the “ Double-Headed 
Snake.” 

The elephant was the great point of attraction, as 
usual. Many were the remarks elicited by his immense 
size and docility. 

“ I want his hide and frame for a corn crib,” said a 
fellow from Pan-Handle Beat. 

Save me his years for skearts to my old wagin 
saddle,” remarked another. ♦ 

‘‘Good gracious!” ejaculated a sallow girl, with a 

11 ( 121 ) 


122 THE ELEPHANT IN LA FAYETTE. 

dirty blue ribbon around a yellow neck, “ was it horned 
with that ugly snake thing stuck to its nose ?” 

Its got a’most the least har to as much hide, that I 
ever seed,” quoth Jerry Brumbelow. 

‘‘ Whar do they raise ’em ?” asked some honest 
searcher after knowledge. 

“ Not here — not here in this country,” replied Jim 
M’GafTey, with a knowing look. 

Whar, then ?” 

‘‘ That animal,” said Jim, who was very drunk, 
“ that animal wasn’t raised in the island of Ameriky ; 
it come all the way from Ireland.'^'* 

Give us your hand, my friend,” exclaimed old Tom 
Martin, with an ironical air ; give us your hand for 
the thrue word ye’re tellin’ the boys. Don’t ye see the 
creator’s fut’^ Sure ’twas made for the Bogs of the 
ould counthry ! This thing, tho’, is but a heiffer, as ye 
may say. What would ye say if ye could see a gini- 
wine Irish Bull^ Tut!” 

“ Satis ! jam satis soliloquized a corpulent lawyer, 
as he walked up ; unconsciously latinizing the spirit 
of Tom Haines’ remark on a similar occasion. * 

The group adjourned to the vicinity of the lion. 

“Why didn’t they shurr (shear) that critter’s fore 
parts, as well as his hind ones asked some one. 

“ You see,” said his keeper, “ he’s got a breast 
complaint, and we were afraid of increasing his cold.” 

“ Well, by granny, I did notice he was hoarse when 
he hollered a while ago.” 

• “ Whar did he come from, Jim ?” asked one of the 
crowd. 


* Vide Georgia Scenes.' 


THE ELEPHANT IN LA FAYETTE. 


123 


From Ireland, too, be Jasus,” said old Tom, taking 
the word out of Jim’s mouth. 

‘‘Didn’t he, M’Gaffey?” 

“I judge he did,” said Mac. 

“I’ll take my corphal of it,” returned Martin ; 
grooves ov Blarney is full ov ’em 

Presently the crowd was ordered back, and Mr. and 
Mrs. Shaffer entered the cage with the lion, tiger, and 
other animals. 

“ That takes Billy’s horns smooth off to his skull — 
don’t it ?” said Tom Hussey. 

“ Is it a rail woman in thar?” asked a skeptical dirt- 
eater. 

“ Why, you see,” said Jim M’Gaffey, “it’s a rail 
woman, but she’s got great sperret. Some people, tho’, 
think these show people ain’t regular human.” 

“ No more they ain’t,” said old Tom. 

“ What ar they, then V* 

^^Airish to be sure !” 

“ Ain’t the Irish human !” 

“ Divil the taste !” responded old Tom, “ they\e all 
subjects ov the Queen ov Great Bntain 

“ That’s a fact,” said Jim M’Gaffey ; and the point 
was settled. 

Mrs. Shaffer shook her whip at the tiger, which 
dashed by her and crouched in a corner of the cage, 
growling furiously. 

“Take care, bare-legs; the old boy’s rattlen’ his 
chain — as my old woman tells the children, when they 
cry,” said John Davis. 

“ I say, John,” observed a half- worn man in a 


124 


THE ELEPHANT IN LA FAYETTE. 


slouched hat — « I ain’t no objection to that woman 

^ showin’ her legs that way ; but if Betsey was to ” 

«« Let Betsey’s name alone, you good-for-nothing,” 
interrupted a sharp-nosed female, with one child in her 
arms, and another at her knee, let Betsey’s name 
alone.” It was the blessed Elizabeth herself — «« and 
come and tote Jake. Here they’ve been scrougin’ and 
runnin’ over the poor child all day — and you a-jawin’ 
thar ! It’s only the Lord’s mercy the elephant didn’t 
tromp on him, and squash him to death. Come along!” 

The hen-pecked meekly obeyed ; took Jacob into his 
paternal arms ; and we — ceased to take notes. 


THE DIRTIKEN. 


Mr. Ferdinand Vickers is one of the natural curi- 
osities of Chambers county. As he pertinaciously gives 
the Irish sound to the e in his Christian name, the good 
people of La Fayette have adopted his pronunciation, 
and abbreviated his name. They call him Uncle 
Fard.” 

Uncle Fard is about sixty years old; but his tall, 
vigorous frame shows, as yet, no symptom of shrink- 
ing. He is hard-featured, raw-boned, and very erect ; 
and as for his voice^ the notorious Ben Hardin’s would 
no more compare with it, than a lady’s whisper with 
the roar of a \vater-fall. Nature has bestowed upon 
him lungs as strong as a smith’s bellows, and throat 
exactly to match them. 

He generally wears his shirt open in front, exposing 
his pillar-like neck and brawny dark chest ; and per- 
haps to this habit he may be indebted, in his old age, 
for the health and strength of the organs within. By 
a parity of reasoning, however, he would be very sub- 
ject to cold in the face ; for Uncle Fard wears a beard 
generally, very much of the length, colour, and general 
appearance of the bristles of a shoe brush. His rough, 
uncouth appearance often invites the raillery of the 
village wags, but it has been generally observed that 
11 * ( 125 ) 


126 


THE DIRTIKEN. 


the best of them were forced to retire from the - field 
before his quaint, original wit, and his superior powers 
of sarcasm. 

No man, within my acquaintance (and I have once 
or twice found it so to my cost), can more effectually. 
rasp an assailant. He has so much discrimination in 
ascertaining the tenderest spot, and keeping it galled ! 
So much for Uncle Fard.’’ 

Young Coats is not at all like «« Uncle Fard.” He 
is about twenty years old, but not larger than a well- 
grown boy of fourteen. He has the complexion of a 
pumpkin, thin legs, a protuberant belly, a shrill voice, 
and not the remotest prospect of ever being compelled 
to use a razor. In short, he comes so well up to Judge 
Longstreet’s description of << Raney Sniffle,” that he 
might well pass for that worthy’s twin brother. 

But the jewel enclosed in this rather inelegant cas- 
ket — the soul of Coats — makes amends for all physical 
deficiencies. Coats has the concentrated valour of a 
dozen fices, and struts and swaggers through a crowd 
as though he would say, Take care ! ta-ke care ! I’m 
dangerous — I am!” 

As a natural result of this fire-eating temperament, 
wlien Captain Oliver Hazzard Perry Hamilton came to 
La Fayette, recruiting under the ten regiment law, for 
the army in Mexico, Coats threw himself forward in 
defence of his country, received six dollars and a drill- 
iug, got drunk in the evening, and thought, as he stag- 
gered to his boarding-house at night, how comfortable 
it was to have plenty of good victuals and a nice bed ; 
and so thinking, and jingling five dollars and sixty-odd 
cents in his breeches pocket, he hastened to avail him- 


THE DIRTIKEX. 127 

self of those comforts, in the order mentioned, as speed- 
ily as practicable. 

Now it came to pass, that on the day after Coats’s 
enlistment. Uncle Fard came to town to make some 
purchases of sugar and coffee and the like ; to which, 
having made the indispensable addendum of a “ drink” 
at Billy Hunter’s, he started for his horse, which was 
hitched in the rear of Mr. Crayton’s, store ; but the 
weather being warm, and Uncle Fard disposed to 
friendly chat, he accepted an invitation to rest awhile 
in the shade of the store piazza. Presently young 
Coats came up to the group sitting there, and Uncle 
Fard inquired «« who that sickly youngster might be 

‘‘ A United States’ soldier,” was the answer. 

“ A United — granny’s cat !” exclaimed Vickers in 
the voice of a Numidian lion — «« he an’t got the 
strength to fight the miiskeeters off of hisself, ef he was 
in a swamp !” 

‘‘Hear that. Coats asked an amiable bystander 
— “ hear that 

“ Hear what.^” 

“ Why,” resumed Uncle Fard, beginning a conver- 
sation with Coats, “ why, that the man that took you 
as an able-bodied recruit, don’t know no more about 
manhood than a bull yearlin’ does about the acts of the 
’postles. Why, bless my soul, you an’t fit for nuthin’ 
in the. world but heaver baitT’ 

Coats’ eyes kindled, and his sallow cheeks grew 
the colour of a half-burnt brick. Raising himself up, 
said he — 

“No man shall talk that way ’bout me ; I’m little. 


128 


THE DIRTIKEN. 


but (lod drot my upper leather ef any man shall crowd 
my feelings’ that way !” 

Pshaw ! pshaw!” growled old Fard; keep still, 
you poor, ager-ridden, clay-eatin’ offin’ [orphan] or 
your Uncle Fard ’ll pinch you — as I was gwine to 
say — ” 

Here Coats became furious. 

Clear the way, gentlemen — let me go — cuss his old 
liver. I’ll have his heart-strings, or bust!” 

But some one held Coats, so that he couldn’t strike 
Vickers, who, turning coolly to the proprietor of the 
store, remarked in the most quiet manner imaginable — 

‘‘ Billy Crayton, hit ’ll fight!” 

A yell from the crowd followed this sally, and the 
poor recruit’s excitement knew no bounds. 

Hit!” he exclaimed who dars to call me hit^) 
Dern his old gray har, it shan’t purtect him ! I’m jist 
as good as ever was wrapped up in a human hide, and 
nobody shan’t call me M.” 

With this. Coats made an effort to raise a chair to 
strike Uncle Fard, but a spectator placed his foot on 
one of the rounds and held it dowm. 

‘‘Let him alone, gentlemen,” said old Fard; “let’s 
see if hit can raise the chair.” 

Coats was now minus his coat, and dashed at the old 
man with the spring of a wild-cat, but Uncle Fard qui- 
etly took both the young man’s hands in one of his 
own, and grasping them tightly, addressed him pater-- 
nally : 

“ Child ! child ! whaVs the use of gittin’ so mad for 
what little fightxn' you can do ? Why, baby, I can hold 


THE DIRTIKEN. 


129 


you up, by one ear, between me and the sun, and tell 
you adzactly what you had for breakfast this morning 

Poor Coats, exhausted by his fruitless struggles, was 
now quiescent, and still in the hard grasp of old Fard, 
appealed to the crowd. Gentlemm, Pm reglar ’listed 
in the ’nited States’ sarvice, and’s got orders agin raisin’ 
rows, but this ain’t no way to treat a feller — Pll leave it 
to you all ef it is.” 

One of the crowd now advised Uncle Fard « to re- 
lease Coats, as it was quite unpatriotic in him to take 
an American soldier prisoner.” 

« American repeated Vickers, with boundless con- 
tempt in his expression; American! heh no Ameri- 
can. This here boy was raised on dirt — I won’t own 
any sich for Americans.* PH tell you what he is — ” 

‘‘What? what?” asked the recruit, foaming and 
snapping — “ tell it out, you old Lord-forgotten scoun- 
drel!” 

“ You are,” said Uncle Fard, very gravely and 
slowly, “you are a DiRTiKENl” 

Coats’s reply was drowned in the uproarious laugh 
at his expense, but being released, he hid himself from 
Fard, in the crowd. At this juncture. Lieutenant 
M’Millian, a recruiting officer, but not of the company 
to which Coats belonged, came up. Uncle Fard, not 
knowing this, got an introduction to him, for the pur- 
pose of rallying him on the appearance of his recruit. 
However, the old man misunderstood the Lieutenant’s 
name. 

“ I say, Leftenant M’Hellion,” he began, “you cer- 
tainly ain’t agwine to take that critter that was here a 
little bit ago, to Maxico ? I tell you, Leftenant, I was 


130 


THE DTRTIKEN. 


at Autossee and Caleebee and the Horse-shoe — hit’s 
now been thirty years and the rise — and, I’ll tell you, 
sir, it took a man with hands, sir, to carry up his cor- 
ner, in them scrapes. What would any poor pursley- 
gutted, deer-legged critter, like Coats, a’done thar ^ — 
say, Leftenant M’Hellion !” 

At this moment. Coats, who had overheard part of 
Uncle Fard’s remark, was seen trying to raise from its 
bed in the ground, before the door, a stone of about 
half his own weight, no doubt with the intention of 
projecting it at his annoyer. 

Uncle Fard, as it was growing late, remarked that 
he would go home, and that he thought by the time he 
got there, ‘‘ the critter would have eat every sign of dirt 
from round that rock.” So the* old man picked up his 
bundles and walked round the corner to his horse. 
Coats left off his labour and betook himself to the “ gro- 
cery,” where after imbibing a much larger quantity of 
whiskey than one would have supposed his brain had 
strength to bear, commenced enlarging on the subject 
of his manhood and courage : 

«« I’ll tell you, gentlemcTi, some on you may know 
sumthin’ about what made me ’list in the army. As 
for old Jenks’s a-whippin’ me about that ’fair with his 
gal, I wan’t afeerd o’ that! I’m as good as ever flut- 
tered, and can whip old Jenks as quick as a sheep can 
flop hit’s tail ! Twan’t that made me ’list with Captin’ 
Hambleton. Well, it’s honourable I reckon to fight for 
the country, and no man shan’t say nothin’ agin the 
army before me. I’m little, but I’ve got as good grit 
as anything that ever weighed a hundred and seven 
pounds -and three-quarters! Old Fard Vickers can’t 


' THE DIRTIKEN. , 131 

scare me, and ef ’twan’t that he is as old as he is, I’d 
kick the old rascal into doll- rags!” 

Old Fard had been peeping in at the back-door some 
little time, having slipped around to mend his drink 
before starting. 

Walking in, he addressed Coats in the most friendly 
manner: 

Son, son, let’s quit this romancin’. You know old 
daddy was only in a joke.” 

Coats pouted, and said, «« he’d be drot if he liked any 
sich jokes.” 

« Come, come, son,” said old Fard coaxingly ; « your 
gran’ pappy knows you can whip him — he’s old now, 
and you are young and much of a man ef you are little. 
Let’s drap funnin’ and take a drink.” 

Coats swelled with pride at the admission he sup- 
posed to have been extorted by his valorous conduct, 
and smiled his acquiescence in the proposition to drink. 

Sonny,” said Vickers, as soon as'they had kissed 
tumblers and imbibed ; “ sonny, I was altogether a jok- 
in’ out yonder afore Billy Crayton’s door — cause, you 
see, I knowed all the time you would do to fight the 
Mexicans, fust rate.” 

Well, horse, I would.” 

‘^To be sure,” said old Fard; I could take five 
hundred men like you, son, and take the city of Mexico^ 
no matter how strong the walls was.” 

The young soldier opened his eyes with surprise, and 
looked also as if he desired to know how that could be 
done. 

“You’ll observe,” continued Fard, as they sat down 
together, at a small table, “you’ll observe, I’d take you 


132 


THE DIRTIKEN. 


all on to Orleans fust, and from thar on to Corpus Kris- 
ty, and so on, to Maxico, by the nighest route, a tra- 
vellin’ mostly of a night. Well, when we got thar, or 
close by, about the dusk of the evenin’. I’d march you 

all up in thirty foot of the walls, without any guns 
?) 

Without any guns!” repeated Coats. 

“Yes, without guns ; and then I’d form you and 
give the order ” 

“ What order?” 

“ Why, the order. Dig and Eat! And I judge, by 
mornin’ the whole ridgiment could dig and eat their 
way through under their walls, and so into the city, like 
so many gophers ! Don’t you think you could come 
it?” asked he maliciously. 

This was too much for Coats. He rose from his seat, 
completely crest-fallen, and sneaked off. Old Fard, 
with a chuckle, climbed upon his horse, adjusted his 
sugar and coffee, and fetching three cheers for the 
“ Dirtiken Ridgiment,” rode off. 


AN INVOLUNTARY MEMBER OF THE 
TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. 

Passing through Notasulga, on my way to Chambers, 
I was accosted by friend Halley who keeps a Res- 
turat” at this interesting point. He insisted on my 
taking a hasty” steak at his establishment ; and not- 
withstanding it would have suited General Scott, in 
the expedition with which it was prepared, yet, on 
honour, a better one could not have been obtained this 
side of the Rialto.” Shade of Nagle ! Though living, 
still but a shade ! — but it was refreshing in its reeking 
juiciness ! 

With the steak aforesaid comfortably under hatches, 
the lad who was hauling” me, and myself were 
quietly and slowly jogging along, a mile or two from 
Notasulga, when a masculine voice, from the roadside, 
hailed us with — 

Me fren’s!” 

We stopped and inquired what this indubitable 
Patlander desired : 

May be,” he said with a brogue absolutely unctu- 
ous, may be you’d have no objictions to givi^’ a man 
with a sthrained ancle and niver a sound spot on his 
body, a cast as fur as the nixt stage stand — would ye ?” 
12 , ( 133 ) 


134 


AN INVOLUNTARY MEMBER 


As it was only a mile or two, I assented, and the 
Emeralder hobbled up and tucked himself somehow 
into the bottom of the buggy. 

‘‘ Ochone !” he commenced lamenting, as soon as 
stowed — ye’ve brought disgrace on yerself, Dennis 
Maguire, and what’s more, on your blessed Almy Ma- 
ther, old Thrin’ty Collidge, Dooblin! Ye have, ye 
divil, ye have ! Ye’ve done it in this fray counthry 
too, whare among all the intilligent Amerikens, ye’ve 
not met an ould acquaintance, or one that could spake 
a word nath’ral to yer ears, barrin the pigs ! — Ochone !” 

‘‘ You are an alumnus, then, of old Trinity?” said I. 

« Your mother’s darlint may say that and spake the 
truth, inthirely, altogether.” 

“ When did you graduate ?” 

Bedad ! that’s more’n I can tell !’ 

«« Why not?” 

Why, faix! I warn’t there at the time ov it.” 

“ Then I suppose you didn’t graduate ?” 

‘‘ Thrue, enthirely !” 

“ Well, how long did you remain at the University ?” 

“ Something betwixt three and six months, and I 
may say I was dhrinkin’ in the strame of knowledge 
as fast as iver ye see a boy, when one divil’s day the 
young gintleman I was wid, took the supposition inthire- 
ly that I was wearing a pair ov his new breeches, and 
so he kicked me down stairs — and divil a step my 
faalins’ would iver let me go back : and so I left old 
Thrin’ty forever !” 

I soan ascertained that my Irish friend had only 
been atXlTinity, in the capacity of servitor to some wild 


OF THE TEMPERANCE SOCIETY. 135 

student, and commenced catechising him as to how 
he had been wounded. After a vast deal of circum- 
locution, he informed me that he had fallen into a deep 
railroad excavation. I suggested that he might have 
been drunk at the time. 

Dhrunk I thought ye said — divil a bit ! At the 
particklar time we were spakin’ ov, I was in a wakin’ 
drame, and thought I was walkin’ on Collidge Green, 
when all ov a suddint, my centhre ov gravity got out 
ov place inthirely, and down I dropped all ov a heap. 
Dhrunk! Why, praps, you didn’t observe that at tha 
particklar time, I was a mimber of the Timp’rance 1” 

“A member of the Temperance Society?” 

To be certain ! and without disgracin’ yer family, 
you may say I had been for some considherable time 
afore.” 

Nagle, Halley, or somebody else, had stuck a flask 
of ‘‘ Otard,” between the cushions and back of the 
buggy, and being reminded thereof, I drew it out with 
the remark that I was sorry Dennis couldn’t join in the 
potation. How was I surprised then, when he said, 
stretching out his arm — 

“A taste ov the flavour ov that same, if ye plase !” 

^“^Why! The devil! Father Matthew! — what do 
you mean?” 

Mane ! Divil a bit ov Praste’s pewther or silver 
was iver in my hands, at all, at all,” (Drinking.) 

Faix I got into the Timperance agin my will com- 
plately. Misther Riddle, ye see, paid off the boys 
inthirely, on Saturday night. And what with one little 
bit or another, and lending Barney^s wife the balance, 


136 AN INVOLUNTARY MEMBER, ETC. 

when I kim to the grocery divil a rap did I have at all. 
So Joe Rouse — Purgathory resave his sowl ! — kept no 
books, owin’ to which « your humble”— winkin’ humo- 
rously — bekim -an involunthary mimber ov the Timp’- 
rance Society for several days inthirely — 

“ Here’s your hilth, sir !” 









V 




4 


A LEGISLATIVE ELECTION. 


The following little story was suggested by the announce- 
ment of the election of Mr. Eastman, a Nashville editor, as 
Clerk of the Tennessee House of Representatives. Our friends 
Downman and Hale will, we trust, not be offended by the pub- 
lication ; they know how true is the narration, and how heartily 
we all laughed at it, at the time 

Editors in Tennessee fare better and are better 
appreciated, than in Alabama. At our last session, 
three or four (of both parties) received their quiet-us. 
Among them was Bob Downman, a glorious fellow, of 
«« infinite jest” and flesh. He was a candidate for the 
Solicitorship of his circuit, and was beaten by the 
lamented Forney, of Lowndes — now, alas! no moS. 

‘‘ How was it. Bob, that they beat you so bad ? — that 
you only got seven votes ?” asked Sam Hale, who had 
just got the same sort of treatment. 

‘‘ Pshaw !” replied Downman, « there isn’t a reliable 
memory in the whole Legislature. I was just as good 
as elected — had eighty-five votes pledged dead certain 
— and I would have gone home, but I thought I would 
stay and take my commission along, . 

“ Tell us about it,” quoth Sam. 

Just this way. I had the names of eighty-five cer- 
tain on my memorandum — and I was really afraid all 
12 ^ ( 137 ) 


138 


A LEGISLATIVE ELECTION. 


marked « probable’ would vote for me, and give the 
other boys no showing. You observe, I didn’t want to 
hurt feelings. 

‘‘ Go on,” said Hale, maliciously forcing Bob to the 
point. 

Well, when the Senate went into the Hall of the 
House, I took a stand in the lobby and pulled out my 
pencil and book and waited for the call. 

I didn’t expect many votes high up in the alphabet 
of the Senate^ so when the clerk called ‘ Mr. Presi- 
dent it didn’t set me back any, to hear in reply — 
‘Mr. Forney!’ 

“‘Mr. Abercrombie.^ — Mr. Forney!’ 

“ ‘ Mr. Beckett — Mr. Forney !’ 

“ ‘ Mr. Buford ? — Mr. Forney !’ 

“ ‘ Mr. Cocke ? — Mr. Forney !’ 

“‘Mr. Dent.J* — Mr. Forney.^’ 

“I didn’t much expect any of these, so I only drew 
a long breath ; but presently it got right down among 
my^‘ dead certain’ ones — and ’twas ‘ Mr. E. ? — Mr. For- 
ney ! Mr. F. ? — Mr. Forney ! Mr, G. ? — Mr. Forney !’ — 
and — ah ! from that time out, through the Senate and 
the House, it was—toith seven honourable exceptions — ■ 
Forney! Forney! Forney! down, to Young of 
Marengo! 

“ Along at first, I’d scratch out the name of one of 
the ‘ certain,"* as he’d vote against me, and think I’d 
enough left any how. But they soon dropped so fast 
that I couldn’t keep up, and so fell to cursing my luck, 
to be beaten by some confounded mistake — for I knew 
there was one somewhere • 


A LEGISLATIVE ELECTION. 139 

mistake! Haw! haw!” roared the Sumter 
FalstafT. 

“You may laugh if you choose^” said Bob, “but it 
was a mistake, as was very soon shown me.” 

“ How?” 

“ Why, as soon as the election was over, out came 
Jimmy Williams, of Jackson, and said he, ‘ My friend, 
I congratulate you on your triumphant election!’ 

“ ‘ Triumphant ! — be hanged !’ said I. 

« c Why, isn’( your name Forney P 

“ ‘ Forney ! — the devil !’ 

“ ‘ Well, we all thought that was your name — yqu 
were the man we were voting for!’ 

“ So you see, Sam,” remarked Downman in conclu- 
sion, “ I lost my election by making a favourable and 
agreeable impression on one hundred and o(ld gentle- 
men, without insisting that each should take down my 
name !” 

“ That’ll do,” said Hale ; “ and I’ll go and do you 
up in an epigram.” And he did ; but like most of 
Sam’s epigrams, that is rather too unctuous. 


AN ALLIGATOE STORY. 


Among the novelties of the season, one of the most 
striking is the Alpha and Omega Pills,” of which I 
observe that the advertiser says: “The narm of these 
pills, though novel, is svffident in discharging all their 
duties.” This being the case, if I find any friend in 
need of a cathartic, I will just mention them to him ; 
that being sufficient according to the advertisement. 

It is a pity but they had had so sovereign a remedy 
on the Alabama river, in the summer of 1836, when, if 
the following anecdote is founded in truth, it was rather 
sickly : 

, Tom Judge, of Lowndes — I think it was Tom — was 
coming up the river, once, from Mobile, when a geatle- 
man from some one of the Northern States going to 
settle in Selma, walked up to him and inquired if there 
were any alligators in that stream. Tom took the dimen- 
sions of his customer with his eye, looked him coolly in 
the face, ascertained that he was soft, and then dolorously 
sighing, answered — 

“ Not now!” 

Spooney supposed he had awakened unpleasant 
emotions, and commenced an apology. 

“ No matter,” replied Tom ; “ I was only thinking 
of my poor friend, John Smith, who was taken suddenly 

(140) 


AN ALLIGATOR STORY. 


141 


from us, in the summer of ’36. I was reminded of 
him by the association of ideas — the same season all 
th^ alligators disappeared from the river !” 

‘‘ Was your friend drowned?” asked the green ’un. 
«« No ; he died of that most horrible of all Southern 
diseases, the Congestive. Fever^ 

After a pause, Spooney essayed again : 

“ What caused the disappearance of the alligators ?” 

They died of the same disease f replied Tom, 
looking at the stranger with a most sepulchral ex- 
pression. 

* * * * * # 

The young adventurer didn’t get out of the boat at 
Selma, nor until he ‘reached the head of navigation, 
where, it is related, he took vehicular conveyance for 
more salubrious regions ! 


THE RES GEST^ A POOR JOKE. 

We tell this tale as ’twas told to us.” j 

Old Col. D., of the Mobile District, was one of the 
most singular characters ever known in Alabama. 
He was testy and eccentric, but possessed many fine 
qualities, which were fully appreciated by the people 
of his district. Many of his freaks are still fresh in 
the memory of the, “old ’uns” of Mobile ; and all of 
them will teU you, that the Colonel, though hard to 
beat, was once terribly taken in by a couple of legal 
tyros. It is George Woodward, I believe, that tells 
the story ; but, however that may be, it is in keeping 
with others related of the old gentleman. 

It seems that Col. D. had had a misunderstanding 
with the two gentlemen alluded to, and was not on 
speaking terms with them, although all of the three 
were professionally riding the Circuit pretty much 
together. The young ones, being well aware of the 
Colonel’s irascible nature, determined, as they left one 
of the Courts for another, to have some sport at his 
expense, by the way. They accordingly got about a 
half hour’s start in leaving, and presently they arrived 
at a broad, dark stream that looked as if it might be 

( 142 ) 


THE RES GESTiE A POOR JOKE. 143 

a dozen feet deep, but which, in reality, was hardly 
more than as many inches. Crossing it, they alighted, 
pulled off their coats and boots, and sat down quietly 
to watch for the ‘‘old Tartar.” 

Jogging along, at length, up came the old fellow 
He looked first at the youngsters who were gravely 
drawing on their boots and coats, as if they had jus^ 
had a swim ; and then he looked at the broad creek 
that rolled before him like fluent translucent tar. The 
Colonel was awfully puzzled. 

“ Is this plaguy creek swimming.^” he growled, after 
a pause of some moments. 

No reply was made ; the young men simply mount- 
ed their horses, and rode off some little distance, and 
stopped to watch our hero. 

The Colonel slowly divested himself of boots, coat, 
pantaloons and drawers. These he neatly tied up in 
his silk handkerchief, and hung them on the horn of 
the saddle. Then he remounted, and as he was a fat, 
short man, with a paunch of inordinate size, rather ina- 
dequate legs, a face like a withered apple, and a brown 
wig, there is no doubt he made an interesting picture 
as he then bestrode his steed, with the “ breezes hold- 
ing gentle dalliance” with the extremities of his only 
garment. 

Slowly and cautiously did the old gentleman and his 
horse take the creek. Half a length — and the water 
was not fetlock-deep ! Here the horse stopped to drink. 
A length and a half — and the stream no deeper ! Thirty 
feet further, and a decided shoaling ! 

Here Col. D. reined up. “ There must,” he said, 
“ be a thundering swift, deep channel between this and 


144 THE RES GEST^ A POOR JOKE. 

the bank — see how the water runs! We’ll dash 
through 

A sharp lash made the horse spring half over the 
remainder of the «« watery waste and another carried 
horse and rider safely to the opposing bank. The 
creek was nowhere more than a foot deep. 

A wild yell from the young ’uns” announced their 
appreciation of the sport, as they gallopped away. 

I’ll catch you, you young rascals,” was ground out 
between Col. D.’s teeth ; and away he galloped in hot 
pursuit, muttering dreadful vengeance on his fugitive 
foes. 

On — on — they sped ! ‘‘ pursuer and pursued 1” The 
youngsters laughed, yelled, screamed — the Colonel 
swore with mighty emphasis, while his shirt fluttered 
and crackled in the wind, like a loose flying jib ! 

On ! — on ! — and the pursued reached a farm-house 
on the' road side. Their passing startled a flock of 
geese from a fence corner, which as the Colonel dashed 
up, met him with out-spread wings, elongated neck, 
and hisses dire. His horse sw’erved suddenly, and the 
Colonel, in a moment, was upon the ground, in a most 
unromantic ‘‘ heap,” with his brown wig by his side, 
and his bundle of clothes scattered around ! 

The w^hite-headed children of the house came out 
first, took a distant vie^v of the monster — as it seemed 
to them, and then returned to report progress. After a 
little, the father of the family came out, and the affair 
being explained, assisted Col. D. in making his toilet ; 
the Colonel swearing, and the countryman laughing all 
the while. 

Dressed and remounted, our hero started off with 



“ Ilis horse SAV'erved siuideiily. jiiid the Colonel, in a nioinent, Avas upon tlic 
ground, in a most unrornantic ‘ lieap,’ Avith liis broAAm wig by liis side, 
and liis bundle of clothes scattered around I ’’ — Page 144 . 








THE RES GESTiE A POOR JOKE. 145 

woful phiz, but before he got a hundred yards, he was 
called back by the countryman. 

“ Here’s somethin’ you’ve dropped,” said the man, 
handing the Colonel his brown wig. 

“ Ah, yes,” growled D. ; another item in the res 
gestce of this infamous affair.” 

What’s that you call it — res jesty'7 That’s a quar 
name to me. What do you do with it ?” 

My friend, it is one of the set of circumstances all 
relating to the same infernal rascally trick .” 

You don’t take my meanin’ — I jist wanted to know 
what’s the name of that harry thing in your hand, that 
I thought you said was a res jesty^ 

«« Ineffable blockhead !” — the Col. waxed wrathy — 
“ most asinine of mortals! It was the vile conspiracy 
against me that I was about to explain. This is my 
OLD WIG ! The res gestce is a set of circumstances, as I 
was saying — in short — d — n it ! — you’ll never under- 
stand — in short, the « res jesty^ as you call it, in this 
particular case, taken all in all, constitute a d — d poor 
joke!” And the Colonel put on his wig, groaned at 
the good Samaritan, and decamped. 

13 


OUE GEANNY. 


Everybody has a Granny ; at least, we never saw 
anybody that had not one. They appear to be as 
necessary as parents — else why their universality ? In 
every village, town, or city, (we speak now within the 
range of our own observation,) you will find a Granny 
Jones,” or a «« Granny Smith,” ora Granny Mitchell,” 
or a Granny Elliot.” There is no getting along with- 
out them ! Science has voted them useless — a nui- 
sance ! Intelligent people” curl their noses at them ! 
We all say, your granny !” in derision or contempt ; 
and yet there — or rather, here — they firmly remain, 
useful, God-serving, garrulous handmaidens of Diana. 
So we really believe that Grannies are a part of the 
fitness of things,” and that to make war upon them, 
is to strive against nature. We, for one, are more than 
willing they should remain ; for we have always found 
them good old people, and they do so treasure up the 
past, that with their queer recollections, and fanciful 
legends, they are enabled to beguile most pleasantly 
the tedious hours of a sick-room. 

All mankind, and all womankind too, know what 
are the special functions of a granny ; so it is unne- 
cessary to expatiate particularly thereon. .We may 
say, however, that the practice of our venerable friends 

( 146 ) 


OUH GRANNY. 


147 


is not restricted, by any means, to' the principal duty 
and business of their lives. If they preside at births, 
the natural sympathy and connexion between the ex- 
tremes of life, brings them appropriately to the chambers 
of disease and death. 

Kind souls ! how they languish with the sick! ‘And 
with what reduced and insinuating and commiserating 
accents they recommend their bayb’ry root, and balm 
TEA, and ALLY-cuMPANE, and multitudinous other 
domestic nostrums and decoctions! And how miracu- 
lous are the cures which these simples have effected, 
under their own dear eyes !” 

Our granny is « Granny Mitchum,” — and she is an 

exception,” (as the saying is,) ‘Go all grannies.” 
She can sit up with the sick a greater number of con- 
secutive nights ; walk more lightly across the floor ; 
look wiser ; heave deeper sighs ; turn up her eyes high- 
er at the wonderful ; tell the age of more people, and 
the exact colour of more dresses — than any granny of 
them all. 

She excels, too, in pantomime. The sick man is 
sleeping ; she would not wake him, for the world — but 
it is absolutely necessary that some particular thing 
should be done, for his comfort. Straightway, she 
catches the eye of the drowsy maid across the hearth — 
she points to the fire — makes a motion as if throwing 
on wood — twists her mouth dreadfully — contracts her 
brow — stirs an imaginary cup with her finger — and 
ends by looking at the sufferer and giving a series of 
nods. All this means — git the balm tea, warm it, 
PUT some sugar in it, and hand it to me ! Let Gran- 


148 


OUR GRANNY. 


ny Mitchum alone for communicating her ideas, either 
with or without the aid of her tongue ! 

And then she is always so careful. She never treads 
on the cat’s tail, causing an hideous squall just as the 
baby has dropped off to sleep ! On the contrary, she 
looks daggers, pokers and brick-bats, at whoever does ; 
and soon our Granny establishes most wholesome po- 
lice regulations in whatsoever household whereinto she 
happeneth to come. 

Granny Mitchum is short, fleshy, squab. True, all 
grannies are so, but in these the strong points of gran- 
ny-hood, the old soul, to our partial eye, seems remark- 
able. Her old face is round and wrinkled, and her eyes 
are moist ; and there is a mole or wart on her upper lip, 
concerning which she relates some very remarkable 
stories. As for her figure, it resembles an egg with the 
small end downwards — with the trifling exception, that 
a WAIST is made, a few inches below her shoulders, by 
the tight-drawing of her apron-string. It seems as if 
the old lady were trying to cut herself in two ; but as it 
is the way with all grannies, and as we have never 
known a case among the tribe, of complete bisection, 
we rather suspect that Granny Mitchum will preserve 
her unity to the end of time. 

Our Granny has a deep-seated horror of pert, lively 
young ladies ; even if she were in at” their swathing, 
she likes them not. It is perhaps the only unamiable 
trait in her character. There’s that Bolina Eastus — the 
SASSY HEIFER, that thinks some of the greatest fools 
she ever saw, were among the oldest” — she haint no 
use for HER, at all. Sich an owdacious thing, stickin’ 
out her mouth and shakin’ her shoulders at old people ! 


OUR GRANNY. 


149 


It’s WELL FOR HER, SHE ain’t hcf mammy ! And Gran- 
ny winds up with a very uncharitable expression of 
opinion about all book-larnt young ladies. 

Granny Mitchum has always been the Telegraph of 
our village ; and we will do her the justice to say, that 
her wires seldom break, and her posts never are blown 
down. She is always «« in opearation,” and if your 
despatches are not transmitted by lightning, they at 
least go « on the wings of the wind.” From house to 
house, speeds our granny, delivering her budget, always 
making the trip «« inside of schedule time,” and never 
in any weather, or from any accident, “ losing a mail.” 
Her ‘‘ intelligence” is almost invariably correct. Once, 
only, was our Granny mistaken, and then in this wise : 

Mr. Snodgrass had moved into our town, from a 
neighbouring county in Georgia, and had brought with 
him the notion that he was considerably in advance of 
the civilization of our place. He had an idea — which 
— we hardly know how to express it — in fact, an idea 
AGAINST GRANNIES. It was wrong (so all of our people 
thought), but still it was true, that Mr. Snodgrass would 
not employ a granny. He thought it safer, more sen- 
sible, and decidedly more fashionable, to supersede 
the Granny with the Physician; and when at length, 
it became necessary, in the progress of his domestic 
affairs, to call in one or the other, he said he would 
have NO nasty old woman about him, and forthwith 
sent for the Doctor. 

Granny Mitchum heard all about the matter, and 
immediately prognosticated that Mrs. Snodgrass’s baby 
would be a boy, and that she would have a bad time. 
Immediately, too, upon the announcement of the birth 
13 * 


150 


OUR GRANNY. 


— confiding in the verity of the premises whence she 
had drawn her conclusions — she circulated the report, 
that the infant was a boy and tlie mother in a had way. 
It turned out, however, that the child was not a boy, 
and that Mrs. Snodgrass did considerably better « than 
could have been expected.” Granny Mitchum met 
these uncomfortable facts, simply by demonstrating 
that the laws of nature had somehow got topsy-turvy, 
in favour of Mrs. Snodgrass ; and that the baby ought 
to have been a boy, and that its mother ought to have 
approached the grave so nearly, that only the miraculous 
decoction of Granny Mitchum, herself, could have 
saved her. 

We will not wish our granny long life, for who ever 
heard of a granny’s dying } — but we trust that she may 
witness a thousand more Malthusian facts — and that 
whenever she comes in competition with the gentlemen 
of the faculty, she may force them “to haul in their 
horns, and give up that there’s other people knows 
something, besides theyselves for we knov/ that 
such a consummation would bring to her heart such a 
degree of felicity, as neither wealth nor honours could 
bestow. 


THE GOOD MUGGINS. 

The Good Muggins” is somewhat of a loafer. At 
home, he attends to but little else than the county 
elections ; and it is a matter of wonder to all his 
acquaintances how his family are fed and clothed. 
His single care is the preservation of the Nation — and 
whether he be Whig or Democrat, the penchant for 
political discourse is his most prominent characteristic. 
He always has the earliest political intelligence, and 
though he but imperfectly understands the movements 
and measures he discusses, he will have no other topic 
of conversation. 

The ‘‘ Good Muggins” is apt to be a subscriber to 
some leading political journal — until his name is strick- 
en from the list for non-payment. No one can tell to 
what extent the National Intelligencer and Washington 
Union have suffered by Good Mugginses.” We only 
know that it is immense ! 

It is astonishing how many persons of consequence 
the Good Muggins” is intimate with. If he happen 
to have emigrated from Tennessee, you will certainly 
find that he w^as on familiar terms with the late Presi- 
dent, and that he was often the bed-fellow of Governors 
Jones and Brown. The personal history of each is also 

( 151 ) 


152 


THE GOOD MUGGINS. 


what he knows by heart. They don’t seem big men to 

him HE KNEW THEM SO WELL ! 

In like manner, he is the confidential friend of all the 
prominent men in our own state. He can tell where 
Nat Terry is to spend next summer, and at the proper 
time will tell you what David Hubbard’s projects are. 
As for Ned Dargan — Ned is a good fellow !” he eja- 
culates — he and Ned are like brothers! ‘‘George 
Goldthwaite,” too, he can tell all about ; but the fact 
is, “ George” is not the man that the “ Good Muggins” 
is apt to take to. The Judge is a natural enemy of 
the “Muggins” tribe, and often cools any incipient 
ardency towards himself, at the first approach. 

The members of Congress are always obnoxious to 
complaint, on the part of “ Muggins.” He is either 
grumbling at the “ cart-loads of documents” sent him 
by Frank Bowden ; or, “ he wants to know why the 
devil old Billy King hasn’t sent him a document, or 
written him a line, this session 1” It is either too much, 
or too little, for “Muggins,” all the time. However, 
his friends in the Tennessee Delegation send him all he 
wants, from Congress ; and iVs a matter of no import- 
ance to him what the Alabama members do ! 

The particular “ Muggins” in our eye is very fond 
of attending the session of the Legislature. The only 
difficulty, ever in the way, is the expense ; and this he 
obviates by attaching himself to some young gentleman 
who is a candidate, before the Legislature, for a county 
Judgeship, or a Solicitorship, or something of that sort. 
He is not a candidate himself — no, sir — no, sir! They 
wanted to make him take an office in Tennessee — in 
fact, had pretty much to quit the State, on that account ! 


THE GOOD MUGGINS. 


153 


He only wants Smith made County Judge of Russell ; 
and if the Democratic party is true to itself, and to the 
principles of ’98, and if there’s any truth in what the 
Union — the JYashville Union — says, Smith must be 
elected. Smith! Did you never hear of Smith? — 
splendid young man! Met Hilliard, last summer, on 
the stump, and made him feel very small! Smith! 
there ain’t another young man in the South, like him ! 
Self-made, too ! K he (Muggins) is a judge of talent. 
Smith has got it, and that in great gobs ! 

A couple of members walk into the Rialto^ to eat oys- 
ters. The ‘‘ Good Muggins” follows them, and as they 
sit down, with a smirk, wishes to know if the one with 
the black whiskers isn’t Mr. Jenkins, from Bunkum ? 
“ No !” Muggins stands at ease, and remarks upon 
the resemblance which, he insists, exists between the 
whiskered member and the aforesaid Mr. Jenkins. At 
length, he is invited to take a seat and a plate ; and 
although he alleges he has just been taking a dozen 
with Ned Dargan, he accepts with an expression of 
condescending amiability. Pending the oysters, Mug- 
gins” ascertains that the gentleman in black whiskers 
is a member from Lauderdale. Ah ! just the man he’s 
been hunting ; has heard he was a little wrong on the 
Senatorial election. Would request him, as a personal 
favour, to give up Clemens and vote for Fitzpatrick. 
He Muggins”) will take great pleasure in introduc- 
ing him to Fitz, and vouches that he, Fitz, is a first-rate, 
clever fellow. By the way (picking his teeth), does 
Black- Whiskers know Smith — Smith, candidate for 
County Judge of Russell? S-p-l-e-n-d-i-d fellow. 
Smith ! Black- Whiskers must vote for Smith, and put 


154 THE GOOD MUGGINS. 

“ Muggins” under eternal obligations to him. And 
then if Black- Whiskers should ever want anything done 
in Russell, just call on him — for he, ‘‘Muggins,” can 
just do anything he wants to, in that little strip of 
territory ! 

The scene between “ Muggins” and “ Black- Whis- 
kers” ends, by the latter’s pitching the former, head- 
foremost, out of the room, with an emphatic caution to 
keep his distance thereafter! “Muggins’” opinion of 
Black- Whiskers, after that, is that be is ^^low down^^ 
and no Democrat. The man that wouldn’t vote for 
Smith, could not be true to the principles of ’98 — 
Smith, the man that was an over-match for Henry W. 
Hilliard I 

A week’s stay in Montgomery put “ Muggins” on 
the most brotherly terms with all the distinguished vi- 
sitors in the city. Now you see him thrusting his phiz 
between the faces of an ex-Governor and a Senator, 
and joining in the conversation, “ whether or no.” 
Anon, he passes his arm under the coat and around the 
waist of a Judge of the Supreme Court, whom he draws 
to his side, with affectionate tenderness. He gives all 
the candidates for United States Senatorship, his “ pri- 
vate opinion” of their duties in the premises, and al- 
ways tells them exactly what the Tennessee Legislature 
would do under the circumstances — but he winds up, 
by suggesting that their influence must be brought to 
bear for Smith ! And thus “ Muggins” — the most vulgar 
and disgusting specimen possible, of ignorance, impu- 
dence, and loquacity — forces his way among the big 
bugs, who never imagine that at home he is considered 
a trifling, idle creature, so near the verge of vagrancy 


THE GOOD MUGGINS. 155 

that (livers hints have been thrown out, touching the 
revival of nearly-dormant statutes. 

We had thought that we would depict «« Muggins,” 
woe-begone, on his homeward journey, anticipating 
the jeers of “ Burrell,” and brooding over the defeat of 
Smith ! But we sat down to chalk a rough outline of 
an individual, to represent a growing class — a recent 
species of the genus “ Loafer.” Having done this 
imperfectly, we must take leave of the ‘‘Muggins” 
family. 


JEMMY OWEN ON THE SENATORIAL 
ELECTION. 

(session of ’ 49 — ’ 50 .) 

A GATHERER of « unconsiderecl trifles” might make 
many a laugh by turning his attention to the proceed- 
ings of the street sessions of the Legislature, this winter. 
The week or two we were “ on hand” furnished some 
droll incidents and what Jemmy Williams, of Jackson 
— God rest him, at home, in Bunkum — would call 
amusing categories.” 

Imagine Jemmy Owen the Doorkeeper, in the bar- 
ber’s shop under the Madison House, undergoing the 
tonsorial operation, at the hands of Peter. Enter, a 
member of the House, whom Jemmy knows to be a 
Democrat, but whose wing” is not known to the Door- 
keeper. It is the evening of the day of King’s elec- 
tion as Senator, and the one preceding Clemens’s. 

Loquitur the member. “ So Jemmy, we couldn’t 
make an election for the second seat to-day.” 

Jemmy. Whist ! Did iver ye see the likes } We 
will make it to-morrow ?” 

Member. < « Quite likely. Clemens is a devHish smart 
young man /” 


( 156 ) 


JEMMY OWEN ON THE SENATORIAL ELECTION. 157 

Jemmy. He’s the eye ov a hawk and a face like 
yer sweetheart’s, inthirely !” 

Member. “ Handsome fellow. How the devil, tho’, 
are they going to get over that nomination ? Fitzpatrick 
is an old leader of the party.” 

Jemmy. “ Since iver I’ve been door-kaper ? He’s a 
grate leader and his lady’s a Quane. And then there^s 
the nomination to he sure?'* 

Member. But I’ll swear North Alabama ought to 
have a Senator, and Jere is as smart as a steel-trap, 
and he’s very acceptable to the North.” 

Jemmy. “Be Jasus, he’s acceptable to anybody. 
Faix ! Jere’s a boy will do to thrust?"* 

Member. “ Well, who’ll be elected ?” 

Jemmy. “ Belikes the hates will be broken.” Jem- 
my said this as if to avoid a direct expression of 
opinion. 

Member. “ It never will do” (musingly, and Jemmy 
watching his expression intently) “ to break up the 
organization of the party ; but — d — n ! — Jemmy, Fitz 
is almost obliged to be the man !” 

Jemmy. “ Be this or be that, I’m thinking that way 
meself.” 

Member. “Well, who’re you for?” 

Jemmy. “ Hasn’t old Ben got the name of the 
blessed Saint ? — Yiiz-pathrick /” And a wink assisted 
to express the doorkeeper’s preference, more definitely. 

Member. (Seriously,) “ But, Jemmy, Col. Clemens 
has also an Irish name — Jer-e-miah ! Isn’t it?” 

Jemmy. (Thoughtfully,) “ Be sure it is — be sure it’s 
an old counthry name ! Whist, Peter ! wait a minute ! 
Now I think ov it, that’s the name of one of the ould 
14 


158 


JEMMY OWEN ON THE 


kings of Ireland. Be Jasus, ye can look in his face, 
too, an’ see the rale blood ov it. Yes, yes, Jere’ll make 
the Sinnatur we’ll all be proud of!” Jemmy was 
certain he was on the right tack, this time. 

Member. ‘‘The democrat that votes for Clemens, 
to-morrow, will damn himself with the party in the 
Legislature, to a moral certainty.” This was said with 
great gravity. 

Jemmy. (In astonishment, and with dilated eyes.) 
‘‘And — and — that’s a fact!” (Recovering himself.) 
“And he’ll desarve it too — and to be d — d into hell, 
to boot.” 

Member. But the people — the people of N. Alabama 
and the whole State — will sustain him ; that’s equally 
certain.” 

Jemmy. (Turning white and red alternately,) “ God 
forbid, sir, God forbid, I should say a word agin it. 
It’s the paple, the holy paple, sir, that’s grater, sir, 
than the Legislator — grater, be the Lord, than anything 
but the House of Rep’sentatives. Yes, be the Lord — 
and they will sustain Jere. I know 

Member. “ Look here, Jemmy, this is a serious mat- 
ter. The party have determined to ascertain the posi- 
tion of every Democrat connected with the Legisla- 
ture,” (here Jemmy looked frightened,) “ in regard to 
this matter. Answer distinctly — are you in favour of 
Clemens or Fitzpatrick.^” 

Jemmy. (Very much confused, stammering, and 
putting on his cravat with nervous jerks.) “Well, thin 
— diyil’s in it — you see, sir — be Christ, I hardly know 
— but it’s this way” — and here he shook his head 
rapidly, as if to reinstate a fallen idea, properly, upon 


SENATORIAL ELECTION. 


159 


its legs — it’s this way, just. I’m Doorkaper to the 
House, and the Sinnit’s no controwl ov me, in God’s 
worl’. Whichever way a majority of the House goes, 
I’m that way. I’ve been Doorkaper these fifteen years, 
an’ niver was agin the House yet — and small blame to 
me. No sir,” (growing more emphatic and deter- 
mined) ; I’ll stick to me House. The Sinnit may 
go to the devil — I never liked it, since Arm’stead 
Thomas laughed because me big shandylare fell and 
broke into smithereens ! No, sir, I’m with me House, 
sir ; and if any man gits«more’n that out ov me the 
night, he’ll rise betimes in the mornin’.” Exit Jemmy, 
shaking his head, and wondering whether the conver- 
sation would ever be repeated. He Rather feared it 
would be ! 


MONTGOMEEY CHARACTERS. 


THE GRAND SECRETARY. 

On the pavement, in front of the Exchange Hotel, 
you will frequently see a gentleman standing ; with 
folded arms and shoulders .thrown back. His attitude 
is soldierly; and so are the buttoning of his dark frock 
coat and his Napoleonic bust. His face is florid, and 
his eye liquid ; and the expression of thq, whole at once 
amiable and dignified. 

A gentleman passes. Instantly the military front 
bends in recognition, with ‘the stateliness and graceful- 
ness with which the lofty pine yields before a steady 
breeze. And now a lady trips in view. On the second, 
the arms are disengaged, and the right one, with gentle 
and graceful sweep, is approximated to the castor of our 
friend, which in due time is elevated, as he majestically 
and graciously, with wreathed lips, inclines himself to 
within three feet of the curb-stone. 

This is the Grand Secretary. You will find few 
men of forty-odd, in Montgomery, so handsome as he 
— fewer so amiable — and not another so accomplished. 
Of almost doubtful nationality — having been born in 
the West Indies and early removed to and educated in 
the U. S. — he unites in himself the suavity and vivacity 

( 160 ) 


THE GRAND SECRETARY. 


161 


of the French, and the manliness, patriotism, and enter- 
prise of the Yankee. He speaks the language of love, 
more elegantly than Louis Napoleon — German, like 
emptying a keg of nails on the floor— and English 
with the purity of Addison and the volubility of Mrs. 
Partington. Besides, he is an accomplished musician ; 
composes excellently, and plays charmingly. The 
piano, harp, flute, and violin, all acknowledge a mas- 
ter’s hand,” in his. But his sweetest performances are 
on that powerful wind instrument the Press ! His adver- 
tisements are really enrapturing ! 

Our friend is the Grand Secretary of the Grand 
Lodge — the Grand Secretary of the Grand Chapter — 
the Grand Secretary of the Grand Council — and the 
Grand Secretary of the Grand Division of the Sons of 
Temperance — of the State of Alabama. The arduous 
duties of all these Grand Secretary-ships he performs 
with a fidelity and accuracy that have won for him a 
high appreciation by his brethren. He is also « Sta- 
tioner-ih-chief ” to the Exchange Hotel, in the base- 
ment of which he sells books of all descriptions, sta- 
tionery and bijouterie. Here he is at home — floating, 
as it were, on a sea of literature, amid the froth of love- 
songs, lithographs, fancy envelopes, visiting cards, and 
valentines. 

The Grand Secretary is a ladies’ man. His devotion 
to the sex is unbounded. His former occupation, in 
Tuscaloosa — teaching music — made him extensively 
acquainted with the fair of the State ; and there is about 
him, an irresistible attraction — an electricity — a mes- 
meric charm — an affinity — an impressibility which 
binds him to ten thousand female hearts, and them to 

14 # 


162 


MONTGOMERY CHARACTERS. 


him. Either he is positive and the ladies negative, or, 
vice versa . — Whenever an approximation is attained, a 
current is immediately established ; but the ladies are 
never shocked” by his battery of compliments. His 
voice, particularly when conversing with the ladies, 
exhibits singular flexibility and softness, and betrays 
the foreigner only in the extreme delicacy of its into- 
nations. Verily, in the first efflorescence of his youth, 
the Grand Secretary must have been a delightful and 
dangerous fellow ! 

It remains only to add, that the Grand Secretary has 
been a citizen of Alabama for more than twenty years, 
during the greater part of which he resided in Tusca- 
loosa ; and that his course ‘‘ as a man and a Mason” 
has endeared him to a circle of friends larger than most 
men can boast, and has established for him a reputation, 
which we trust will ultimately make his fortune. 


NED H K. 

A JOLLY old cock is Ned. No one lives more hap- 
pily or harmlessly, than he. He has no enemies — not 
one ; and his face is always radiant, and his heart 
merry. To be sure he has had his troubles, but he has 
met them like a man, never sacrificing flesh to sorrow, 
nor wasting time in deploring the loss of spilt milk. 

Ned must be considerably over fifty, but we take it, 
that his chronology, of late years, is not altogether reli- 
able ; for it is with difficulty he can be made to own 
even that figure. He must have been at least fifty when 
we first knew him ; and that has been more years than 


NED. H- 


■K. 


163 


would make a little girl a marriageable woman. But 
however that maybe, he certainly is an Irishman, albeit 
he claims North Carolina as his “ native State for, 
says he, <‘in a free country, mayn’t a man choose the 
State of his nativity !” 

Our friend was a merchant in Montgomery for many 
years, during which he made much money and spent it 
— principally in endorsing for friends. He had a pecu- 
liar philanthropy — that of setting up in business every 
young man he took a liking to ; and the rascals gene- 
rally left him “ the bag to hold.” Still Ned was not 
to be deterred from following the dictates of his good 
warm heart ; so that he was murthered” time and 
again. It is a curious sight, his map” of protested 
Bills of Exchange — amounting to over a million of 
DOLLARS — which hangs up in his comfortable little 
room. Ned is fond of showing this to his visiters, in 
proof of his invincible energy. How he has managed 
to get up this mass of debt, one can hardly imagine ; 
but he has done it somehow, and there are the ‘‘evi- 
dences” pasted on linen of the area of one of Mitchell’s 
largest maps. 

A characteristic anecdote is told of Ned. Three or 
four years since, he was arrested, in Baltimore, and 
confined in jail, on a fraudulent claim. He was severe- 
ly afflicted with rheumatism at the time ; and one would 
have supposed, that pain and imprisonment would have 
soured him against his whole race. Not so, however. 
He spent the few hundreds he had, in paying out the 
small debtors, and besides assisted by his advice — Ned 
is a pretty good lawyer in commercial matters — those 
whom he could not aid with his purse. The old gen- 


164 


MONTGOMERY CHARACTERS. 


tleman gained his case, and was released after an 
imprisonment of several months. 

A marked trait in Ned’s character is his superstition. 
Whether he brought it from Ireland or North Carolina, 
we could never ascertain. At any rate, he has it, and 
generally travels with an old horse-shoe in his pocket, 
as a talisman. We had a tumble in company with him, 
some years ago, in a railroad train that ran off’ the track 
and down a steep embankment. The car was inverted 
and the passengers projected, head first, against the ceil- 
ing. Ned was terribly cut and bruised ; but his first 
thought was of a poor woman whom he assisted to get 
clear of the wreck — and his next was of his horse-shoe. 
“How d — d imprudent,” he exclaimed, “not to’ve 
brought my shoe along — and the road in such had order 

iooV"^ From Montgomery to Boston, “Ned H k 

and his Horse-shoe” are known to all railroad conduct- 
ors, stage drivers, steamboat captains and hotel keepers. 

Ned is the historio-gossip of Montgomery. He can 
relate you all that is worth knowing about every man, 
woman, and house in the city. He has files of all the 
city papers, running a long time back, and his memory 
is a ready index by which he can turn to any desired 
matter of information. In short, if not the “ oldest 
inhabitant,” he comes nearer possessing that intangible 
individual’s extensive fund of facts, than any other man 
we know. 

Mr. H k is, unfortunately, a bachelor, but to 

make up for it, he constitutes all his fellow citizens his 
family. His warm-heartedness beams out upon all, 
and his benevolence is a constantly, silently descend- 
ing dew that refreshes all around. If he have any 


THE COLONEL. 


165 


faults or bad habit, it is sitting up rather late at the 
“ Rialto,” ‘‘ Exchange,” or « Hall.” He does so love 
to hear a good story from a friend who has just come 
in on the cars — he knows all that travel by railroad, 
steamboat, or stage coach — that sometimes he will lin- 
ger over his punch till near midnight. Generally his 
habits are very methodical and correct, and we hope, 
and do not doubt, that he will be a hale, lively little 
man (slightly, shrivelled) in the year of grace 1875. 

As there are a good many widows of our acquaint- 
ance that would be all the better off, if they could catch 
such a prize as Ned, we may remark, that his physical 
man is remarkably neat and trim — not tall or stout, but 
sinewy and well proportioned. His face, if not very 
handsome, is a very happy one, with a look of keen 
intelligence and a sparkling of gray eyes, that we 
should suppose to be very attractive to the sex. 


THE COLONEL. 

“ I saw him once before, 

As he passed by the door, 

And again 

The pavement stones resound. 

As he loiters o’er the ground. 

With his cane.” 

The first time we ever saw^ the Colonel,” he was 
standing at the corner of the granite block opposite the 
Madison House. He appeared to be waiting for some 
one ; for every two seconds he raised and let fall on 


166 


MONTGOMERY CHARACTERS. 


the pavement his ebony cane, with a ‘‘ pish’’ that indi- 
cated disappointment. His tall, thin, and yet elegant 
form, sharply-chiselled and intellectual features ; togeth- 
er with his very plain but unimpeachably genteel attire, 
led us, at first, to the conclusion that he was a clergy- 
man. The fretfulness of the pish,” however, and a 
modest pair of whiskers, extending from the ear 
to the angle of the jaw below, somewhat militated 
against this supposition ; and we “ awaited further 
developments.” 

Presently a dapper fellow, with an irresistible look 
of good-nature, came hurriedly up the street : 

“Is she up, Mike.^” asked the Colonel, twirling his 
cane nervously. 

u Yes — the Sam Dale— fish and oysters !” 

“ Fish .^^eh ? — what sort ? — in ice ? — pompano ?” 
— and the Colonel’s face was radiant, and he turned up 
his coat cuffs in ecstasy, and then turned them back, 
for very joy. 

“ No ! — not pompano !” was the reply. 

“ Sheephead, eh? — mighty near as good.” Then 
the Colonel smacked his lips. 

“ Not Sheephead — guess again.” 

“ By Jove, what then ?” 

« Redfish,” said Mike. 

“ Red-fish!” ejaculated the Colonel, and he curled 
his upper lip in frightful contempt, and making his 
ebony cane hum through the air, he added with ineffa- 
ble disdain — “ d — n Redfish !” 

No words can express the concentrated expression 
with which that “ d — n” was given. It did not mean 
that Redfish might go to perdition, if they chose — but 


THE COLONEL. 


167 


something — a great deal — morel Every letter had its 
separate force of expression, and the aggregate word as 
it writhed like a hissing serpent through his contemptu- 
ous lips, was most intensive bitterness. It was a curse 
and a sneer worthy of John Randolph, of Roanoke : — 

‘‘ D — N Redfish !” 

The Colonel is a hon vivant of the most exquisite 
and cultivated taste. In him, a first-rate natural capacity 
was improved by extensive European travel. While 
amateuring through the galleries of the continent — he is 
no mean connoisseur, and his opinions as to matters 
connected with art have great weight in Montgomery 
— he devoted his ample leisure to gastronomical study 
and inquiry. He returned with a stock of knowledge 
and experience which he has since constantly exercised 
for the benefit of. his friends and himself. In painting, 
sculpture, and gastronomy, his is the umpirage, from 
which there is no appeal. “ The Colonel” says so — 
and all Perry and Main streets endorse the irreversible 
dictum. And, it is but sheer justice to say, that his 
power is judiciously exercised — to his exertions and his 
suggestions, Montgomery owes much of what she boasts 
in beauty and improvement. 

The Colonel w'as in attendance on the last session 
of the Legislature which was held at Tuscaloosa. After 
the passage of the « Removal” measure, he took, of 
course, an active part in securing the location” of the 
Capitol to Montgomery. Wetumpka was the only 
really-contesting opponent, and the Colonel industri- 
ously went to work against Wetumpka. One morning 
the members at the Indian Queen” found about their 
rooms — as if casually dropped — bills of fare from 


168 


MONTGOMERY CHARACTERS. 


Montgomery and Weturapka. The one from Mont- 
gomery ran somewhat thus : Bill of Fare, at the Mont- 
gomery Hall, Tuesday Nov. — 1845. Soup — Oyster. 
Boiled — Turkey^ with oyster sauce. Roast — Pig. 
Entrees — Oyster- Pie, ^x. Desert — Plumb- Pudding, 
Tarts, Pies, and Jellies. Fruit — Oranges, Apples, Pine- 
apples, Raisins, Almonds, ^c. Wines — Champagne, 
Madeira, Sherry, ^c., ^c. The other was in this style : 
Bill of Fare, at the Wetumpka Hotel, Tuesday Nov. 

, 1845. Soup — Cowpea. Boiled — Bacon and 

Greens. Roast — "^Possum. Entrees — Tripe and Cow- 
Heel. Dessert — Fritters and Molasses. Fruit — Per- 
sirnmons, Chesnuts, Goobers. Wines — Black Malaga. 

The Colonel always thought that these Bills of Fare 

settled the hash” for Wetumpka. He argued that 
his gastronomical finesse took every wavering vote ; 
for, he would remark, if a man does not know where 
to go, and you spread a good dinner before him, isn’t 
it natural he should go to the dinner‘s Egad,” said 
he, I saw one fellow poring over the Montgomery 
Bill, and every time he’d come to oysters” he’d lick 
his chaps — and when he reached the “ wines,” he laid 
down the paper and rubbed his hands in perfect delight. 
I know I got him. 

The Colonel does the agreeable to strangers, with 
great tact. and politeness. WTth them, he is eminently 
the well-bred man. His civilities always come in 
proper shape and proper time. He knows who will 
be agreeable to you, and he introduces. He knows 
who wdll not, and he does not introduce. He will not 
suffer you to be bored ; he will w’alk with you, drive 
you, dine you, talk politics with you, or show you the 


THE COLONEL. 


169 


city — ^just as he knows by intuition, will suit your 
mood at the time. And he does all with a true cour- 
tesy and gentility, that makes you easy in your pan- 
taloons” and delighted with your companion. 

We do not know that we should mention that the 
Colonel is tried, sometimes, by severe attacks of the 
gout, but that he cherishes a singular notion in regard 
to it : which is, that no one of the physicians in Mont- 
gomery has any considerable or competent idea of 
the peculiarities of that dreadful disease. They, in 
some of its phases, dp not « exhibit” rich viands with 
champagne sauce ; while the Colonel is impressed with 
the belief, that the most generous and nourishing diet 
is the least that will enable a man to resist the attacks 
of the excruciating enemy. 

There were two unfortunate topics — we barely allude 
to them — on which the Colonel and ourself disagreed 
in days gone by ; the grading of the capitol grounds, 
and the mode of dressing ducks. It is our misfortune 
to adhere to our original opinions, but we do so with 
deference and — we may add — with something like 
doubt. If those opinions had been formed when the 
Colonel’s taste and judgment were better known to us, 
it is very possible that we should have expressed them 
with much greater hesitancy. As it is — and according 
to agreement — by-gones shall be by-gones ;” and we 
trust that the Colonel’s only enemy, the gout, will allow 
him to enliven the large circle that looks so much to 
him, for enjoyment, during the present session. 

THE END. 


15 



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VI 



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■ ^ 




HEW BOOKS 

RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY 

A. HART, late CAREY & HART, 

No. 126 GJiestnut Street , Philadelphia. 


HISTORICAL AKD SECRET MEMOIRS 

OF THE 

EMPRESS JOSEPHINE, 

(]>Iai-ie Rose Tascher de la Pagerie,) 

FIRST WIFE OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

BY MLLE. M. A. LE NORMAND. 

Translated from the French by Jacob ill. 
Howard^ Esq. 

In 2 vols., 700 pages, muslin extra gilt. 

“It possesses great intrinsic interest. It 
is a chequered exhibition of the undress life 
of Napoleon. All the glitter and pomp and 
dust of glory which bewilder the mind is 
laid; and we behold not the hero, the em- 

E eror, the guide and moulder of destiny, 
ut a poor sickly child and creature of cir- 
cumstance — affrighted by shadows and tor- 
tured by straws.” — Philada. City Item. 

“ This is one of the most interesting works 
of the day, containing a multiplicity of in- 
cidents in the life of Josephine and her re- 
nowned husband, which have never before 
been in print.” — N. O. Times. 

“ This is a work of high and commanding 
interest, and derives great additional value 
from the fact asserted by the authoress, that 
the greater portion of it was written by the 
empress herself. It has a vast amount of 
information on the subject of Napoleon’s 
career, with copies of original documents 
not to be found elsewhere, and with copious 
notes at the end of the work.” — JV. O. Com. 
Bulletin 

“Affords the reader a clearer insight into 
the private character of Napoleon than he 
can obtain through any other source.” — 
Baltimore American. 

“They are agreeably and well written ; 
and it would be strange if it were not so, 
enjoying as Josephine did, familiar collo- 
quial intercourse with the most distinguish- 
ed men and minds of the age. The work 
does not, apparently, suffer by translation.” 
—Baltimore Patriot. 

“It IS the history— in part the secret his- 
tory, written by her own hand with rare 
elegance and force, and at times with sur- 
passing pathos— of the remarkable woman 
who, by the greatness of her .spirit was wor- 
thy to be the wife of the soaring Napoleon. 
It combines all the value of authentic his- 
tory with the absorbing interest of an auto- 
biography or exciting romance.” — Item. 


PROSE WRITERS OF GERMANY. 

By FREDERICK H. HEDGE. 

ILLUSTRATKI) WITH EIGHT PORTRAITS AND A.N 

ENGRAVED TITLE-PAGE, FROM A DESIGN 
BY LEUXZH. 

Complete in One Volume Octavo 

Contents. 

Luther, Boehme, Sancta Clara, Moser, 
Kant, Lessing, Mendelssohn, Hamann,Wie- 
land, Musiius, Claudius, Lavater, Jacobi, 
Herder, Goelhe, Schiller, Fichte, Richter, 
A. W. Schlegel, Schleiermacher, Hegel, 
Zschokke, F. Schlegel, Hardenberg, Tieck, 
Schelling, Hoffmann, Chamisso. 

“The author of this work — for it is well 
entitled to the name of an original produc- 
tion, though mainly consisiing of transla- 
tions — Frederick H. Hedge of Bangor, is 
qualified, as few men are in this country, 
or wherever the English language is writ- 
ten, for the successful accomplishment of 
the great literary enterprise to which he has 
devoted his leisure for several years. 

“Mr. Hedge has displayed great wisdom 
in the selection of the pieces to be trans- 
lated; he has given the best specimens of 
;the best authors, so far as was possible in 
his limited space. 

“ We venture to say that there cannot be 
crowded into the same compass a more 
faithful representation of the German mind, 
or a richer exhibition of the profound 
thought, subtle speculation, massive learn- 
ing and genial temper, that characterize the 
most eminent literary men of that nation.” 
— Harbinger. 

“What excellent matter we here have. 
The choicest gems of exuberant fancy, the 
most polished productions of scliolar.ship, 
the richest flow of the heart, the deepest 
lessons of wisdom, all translated so well by 
Mr. Hedge and his friends, that they seem 
to have been first written by masters of the 
English tongue .” — The City Item. 

“We have read the book with rare plea- 
sure, and have derived not less information 
than enjoyment.” — Knickerbocker. 

“ The selections are judicious and tasteful, 
the biographies well written and compre 
hensive.” — Inquirer. 


1 


^EW HOOKS FUBLISHEI) BY A. HAET. 


ISArOl^KON 

AND 

THE MARSHALS OF THE EMPIRE. 

Complete in 2 vols. 12mo., 

With 16 Steel Portraits in Military Costume. 

Conteiifs* 

Napoleon, Jourdan, Serrurier, Lannes, 
Brune, I’erignon, Oudinot, Soull, Davouat, 
Massena, Murat, Mortier, Ney, Poniatow- 
ski, Grouchy, Bessieres, Berthier, Souchet, 
Si. Cyr, Victor, Moncey, Marraont, Mac- 
donald, Bernadollej Augereau, Lefebvre, 
Ke Hermann. 

The bioCTaphies are twenty-seven m 
number — Napoleon and his twenty-six 
marshals, being all those created by him — 
and therefore these pages have a complete- 
ness about them which no other work of a 
Bimilar design possesses 

The style is clear and comprehensive, 
and the. book may be relied upon for histo- 
rical accuracy, as the materials have been 
drawn from sources the most authentic. 
The Conversations of Napoleon, with Mon- 
tholon, Gourgaud, Las Cases and Dr. O’- 
Meara have ail been eonsulted as the true 
basis upon which the lives of Napoleon 
and his commanders under him should be 
founded. 

“The article on Napoleon, which occu- 
pies the greater part of the first volume, is 
written in a clear and forcible style and 
displays marked ability in the author. Par- 
eicular attention has been paid to the early 
portion of Napoleon’s life, which other wri- 
ters have hurriedly dispatched as though 
they were impatient to ar rive at the opening 
glories of his great career.” — N. Y. Mirror. 

“The lives of the Marshals and their 
Chief, the military paladins of the gorgeous 
modern romance of the ‘Empire,’ are given 
with historic accuracy and without exag- 
geration of fact, style or language.”— HaZ- 
timore Patriot. 

“ We have long been convinced that the 
character of N apoleon would never receive 
‘’even handed justice’ until some impartial 
and intelligent American should undertake 
the task of weighing his merits and deme- 
rits. In the present volume this has been 
done with great judgment. We do not 
know the author of the paper on Napoleon, 
but whoever he may be, allow us to say to 
him that he has executed his duty better than 
rtny predecessor Evening Bulletin. 

“The style of this work is worthy of com- 
mendation— plain, pleasing and narrative, 
the proper style of histO'ry and biography 
in which the reader does not seek fancy 
sketches, and dashing vivid pictures, but 
what the work professes to co'nlain, biogra- 
phies. We commend this as a valuable 
library book worthy of preservation as a 
work of reference, after having been read.” 
.^Balt American. 

“This is the clearest, most concise, and 
most interesting life of Napoleon and hie 
marshals which has yet been given to the 
public. Tne arrangement is judicious and 

2 


the charm of the narrath'e coruinuc# 
broken to- the end.” — City Item 

“The publishers have spared no pains at 
expense in its production, and the best talent 
in the counPry has been engaged on its va- 
rious histories. The style is plain and gra- 
phic, and the reader feels that he is perusing 
true history rather than the ramblings of a 
romantic mind.”— Lady’s Book. 

“The resultof these joint labors is a seriee 
of i>arratives, in which the events succeed! 
each other so rapidly, and are of so marvel- 
ous a cast, as to require only the metiiod in 
arrangement and the good taste in descrip- 
tion which they have received from the 
hands of their authors. The inflated and 
the Ossianie have been happily avoided.” — 
Colonization Herald. 

“Their historical accuracy is unimpeach- 
able,. and many of them ^ihe b ograpfiesj 
are stamped v.iiili originality of thought and 
opinion. Tire engravings are numerous a-Hd 
very tine. The book is well printed on fine 
while paper, and substantiaMy bound. It 
deserves a place in all family and school’ 
libraries.” — Bulletin. 

“It abounds in graphic narratives of bat- 
tles, anecdotes of the world-famed actors, 
and valuable historical information.”— iZic/i- 
mond Inquirer. 

“We receive, therefore, with real plea- 
sure, this new publication, having assurance 
that great pains have been taken in the pre- 
paration of each individual bioggapliy, and 
especially in collating the various auihorr- 
ties upon the early history of the Emperor. 
There appears to be nowhere any attempt 
to blind the reader by dazzling epithets, and 
the accuracy of construction throughout is 
highly creditable to the Commer- 

cial Advertiser N. Y. 

“The style Is simplicity itself, wholly free 
frorn the amusing pomposity and absurd in- 
flation that distinguish some of the works 
which have gone before it.” 


BRYANT’S POEMS. 

mUSTRATED B7 TWENTY SDPERB ENGRAVING^ 

From Designs by E, LEUTZE, 
Expressly for this Volume^ 

ENGRAVED BY AMERICAN ARTISTS, 

And printed on fine Vellum paper. 

COMPLETE IN ONE VOLUME OCTAVO-. 

Sixth Edition. (Just ready.) 

Price 3?5.G0 hound in scarlet, gilt edges ; or 
beautifully bound by S. Moore in calf 
or Turkey morocco, $7.00. 

“This is really a splendid book, and one of 
the most magnificent of Carey & Hart’s collec- 
tion of “The Illustrated Poets.’” — U. S. Gaz. 

“ The ‘ getting up’ of this edition is credit- 
able in the highest degree to the publishers 
and the fine arts of the country. The paper 
binding, and the engravings are all of the 
very best kin(l.’'-r-Inquirer and Courier. 


17EW BOOKS PUBLISHED BY A. HART, 

PETER SCHLEMIHL. 


PETER SCHLEMIHL IN AMERICA. 


Complete in One Volume^ 12/?ie. 


The object of ibis work is to ‘ catch the . 
manners living as they rise’ in connection? 
with the antagonisms of the presetit day — S 
^novelties which disturb the peace ' — as Swe- 5 
denborgianisin, Transcendentalism, Fou-S 
rierism, and other isins. The author has' 
ptade these pages the vehicle of valuab’e< 
information on all the topics of which he J 
has treated.” < 

“ Peter, as our readers may reeo’’.ect, so'^d ? 
his shadow to a Gentleman in Black, and? 
upon this fable the American advei»tures^ 
are founded. The author, whoever ne may 5 
be, has read much, and been at least ‘a; 
looker on in Venice,’ .f not a participator^ 
of the follies of fashionable life. < 

“The theological and po.itical criticisHr. < 
is inwoven with a tale of fashionable life,? 
and the reader becomes not a little interest-^ 
ed in the heroine, Mrs Smith, who certainly ? 
must ha /e been a lemarkable woman. It? 
is neatly publishf*d, and will be extensively 5 
reau.” — Bullet’ n. s 

“We shal'. be greatly mistaken if this' 
book does not kick up a whole cloud of^ 
dust.”— The City Item. ? 

“The work is characterized by much? 
learning and sincere feeling.” — N. Y. Mirror. ? 

“ One of the most entertaining works we ^ 
have read for many a day, as well as one? 
of the best written. Who the author is we I 
know not; but we do know that the book? 
will meet with a rapid sale wherever ans 
inkling of its character leaks out. For? 
watering places, or anywhere, during tlie < 
hot weather, it is worth its weight in — gold ? 
we almost said. It is full of everything of? 
the best, and you can scarcely open it at? 
random without striking upon some sketch i 
or dialogue to enchain the attention.” — Ger- 5 
mantown Telegraph. ? 

“ His stock of knowledge is large ; and as J 
his conscience is rectified by Christian?' 
principle, and his heart beats in unison? 
with the right and the true, he uses his trea-? 
sures of information only for good purposes. ? 

“The book belongs to that class of Kovelsl 
which make an interesting story the me-> 
dium for the communication of important f 
‘juth. In many respects it is a peculiar) 
work, differing from all others in both de-| 
sign and execution, and leaving the impres-? 
sion that it is the product of a mind of no? 
ordinary power. * * * # j 

“Those who love to think nwAfeel. as the ? 
result of truthful thought, will read the book > 
with interest and profit .” — Reflector dj- Watch- / 
man. < 

“A rare book. Who ir the Vv'orld wrote ) 
it? Here are nearly five hundred pages; 
with gems on every one of them. The < 
satire is equal to that of Don Quixote or; 
Asmodeus. The hits at society in this 
country are admirable and well pointed. > 
The humbugs of the day are skillfully ' 


shown up, and the morals of the boot arts • 
unexceptionable. The author cannot long 
escape detection, in sj ite of his shadowy 
concealment, and if a new practitioner ho 
will jump to the head of his profession at 
once.” — Godey's Lady's Book. 

“ We are prepared to say, That Peter 
rfchlemihl is an exceedingly clear and 
vyell-wriUen work — that the author has 
displayed a considerable amount of book 
lore in its composition — that the story is in- 
teresting and instructive — that we havo 
been entertained and edified by its perusal, 
and that it possesses merits of more than 
ordinary character. We cordially recom- 
mend it to the reading community, since we 
are sure that they will be benefiued as well 
as entertained by the revelations contained 
in the pages of Peter. — The National Era. 

“A strangely conceived and ablyexecuted 
work.”— A. O. Com. Times. 

“The w’ork forms a consecutive tale, all 
along which runs a vein of severe satire, 
and which at every step is illustrated by a 
vast deal of valuable information, and the 
inculcation of sound principles of morality 
and religio^i. It is a work which is adapted 
to do good, suited to all intellige*U general 
readers, and a pleasant companion for the 
scholar’s leisure hours.” — N. Y. Recorder. 

“This is a very remarkable production, 
and unless we are greatly deceived, it is 
from a new hand at the literary forgo. W« 
have read every page of this thick volume, 
and have been strongly reminded of South- 
ey’s great book. The Doctor. The author ©f 
this work must be a man of close observa- 
uon,much research, and if we are accurate 
in our estimate, he is a layman. * * * * 
This same book will make a sensation iw 
many quarters, and will unquestionably 
create a name and reputation for its author, 
who forthwith takes his place among tire 
best and keenest writers of our country. ♦ ♦ 
W-e commend it to the gravest and gayest of 
our readers, and assure them that our own 
copy will not go off our table until another 
winter has passed away.’’— iV. Y. Allianoe 
and Visitor. 

“The volume cannot fail to be read exten- 
sively and do good The popular ‘ isms' of 
the day, their tolly and injurious tendency, 
are •descanted upon with mingled gravity 
and luinior, and considerable talent and 
truthful feeling are shown in the discus- 
sion. Whether the book have an immediate 
run or not, the soundness of its views, deli- 
vered with some quairitness of style, will 
insure it permaiioiit popularity.” — N. York 
Commercial Advertiser. 

“Light, sportive, graceful raillery, ex- 
pressed with terse and delicate case. * * * 

“ It is a novel of fun, with grave notes by 
wav of ballast.” — Chrisimn Examiner. 


Pl^BLISHED BY A. IIAET. 


Now ready, in 2 vols. post 8vo., price 00, with 16 Portraits, 

WASHINGTON AND THE GENERALS 0 ^ 
THE REVOLUTION. 

BY VARIOUS EMINENT AUTHORS. 

CONTAINING 

Bio graphical Sketches of all the JTIaJor and Brigadier Generals 
tcho acted under commissions from Congress during 
the Revolutionary H^ar, 


We hail these beautiful volumes with 5 
undisguised delight. They supply, in a dig- | 
nified and comprehensive form, valuable | 
information, which will be sought with avi- S 
dity, not only by the American public, but s 
by the world at large. The want of a work j 
of positive authority on this subject has long ( 
been felt and deplored. The enterprise and ; 
good taste of Messrs. Carey and Hart have | 
given us two handsome antT reliable vo- 1 
fumes, betraying industry and talent, and > 
replete with facts of the deepest interest. > 
There is no idle romancing — no school-boy | 
attempts at rhetorical display; on the con - 1 
trary, the work is written in a clear, un- 1 
affected, business-like, yet beautiful man- | 
ner. The authors had the good sense to | 
think that the stirring events of “the times | 
that tried men’s souls,” needed no embellish- > 
ment. It is a complete, impartial, and well > 
written history of the American Revolu- < 
lion, and, at the same time, a faithful bio- s 
graphy of the most distinguished actors in < 
that great struggle, whose memories are < 
enshrined in our hearts. The typographical { 
execution of the work is excellent, and the ? 
sixteen portraits on steel are remarkably > 
well done. The first volume is embel- > 
lished with a life-like portrait of Washing- S 
ton mounted on his charger, from Sully’ss 
picture, ‘■'■Quelling the Whisky Riots^ This? 
is, we believe, the first engraving taken? 
from it. There are biographies of eighty- | 
eight Ge?ierals, beginning with “the Father c 
of his country,” and closing with General j 
Maxwell. To accomplish this taskj we ? 
are assured that “the accessible published | 
and unpublished memoirs, correspondence, > 
and other materials relating to the period, 5 
have been carefully examined and faith- 5 
fully reflected.” We earnestly commend ? 
this work. It will be found an unerring? 
record of the most interesting portion of < 
our history. — The City Item. | 

This work diflers from Mr. Headley’s, > 
having nearly the same title, in many im- ? 
portant particulars ; and as an historical book | 
is ■much superior. — N. Y. Com. Advertiser. | 

liertainly the most comprehensive and < 
individualized work that has ever been ? 
published on the subject — each member of ? 
the great dramatis personae of the Revolu- > 
lionary tragedy, standing out in bold and i 
“scull lured” relief, on his own glorious? 
u«ieds — Saturday Courier. ^ 

This work is a very different affair from > 
tne flashy and superficial book of the Rev. ? 
J. T. Headley, entitled “Washington and) 
his Generals.” It appears without the ? 

4 


name of any author, because :t is the join' 
production of many of the most eminent 
writers in the country, resident in various 
states in the Union, and having, from the 
circumstance, access to original materials 
in private hands, and to public archives not 
accessible to any one individual without 
long journey and much consumption of 
time. The result, however, is a complete 
and authentic work, embracing biographi- 
cal notices of every one of the Revolution- 
ary Generals, The amount of fresh and ori- 
ginal matter thus brought together in these 
moderate-sized volumes, is not less sur- 
prising than it is gratifying to the historical 
reader. This will become a standard book 
of reference, and will maintain its place in 
libraries long after the present generation 
shall have enjoyed the gratification of pe- 
rusing its interesting pages, exhibiting in a 
lively style the personal adventures and 
private characters of the sturdy defenders 
of American Independence. — Scotfs Weekly 
Newspaper. 

The author’s name is not given, and from 
what we have read, we presume that va- 
rious pens have been employed in these in- 
teresting biographies. This is no disadvan- 
tage, but, on the contrary, a decided benefit, 
for it insures greater accuracy than could be 
looked for in such a series ©f biographies 
written by one person in a few months. 
The volumes are published in a very hand- 
some style. The first sixty pages are oc- 
cupied with the biography of Washington, 
which is written with force and elegance, 
and illustrated by an original view of the 
character of that great man. * * * The 
number of the biographies in these volumes 
is much greater than that of Mr. Headley’s 
work. There are eighty-eight distinct sub- 
jects. — N. Y. Mirror. 

We have read a number of the articles, 
find them to be written with ability, and to 
possess a deep interest. The author has 
manifested excellent judgment in avoiding 
all ambitious attempts at what is styled 
Jine writing; but gives a connected recital 
of the important events in the lives of his 
heroes. The work will be highly interest- 
ing and valuable to all readers — particu- 
larly so to youth, who are aiways attracted 
by biographies. If a father wishes to pre- 
sent to his sons noble instances of uncor- 
rupted and incorruptible patriotism, let him 
place this work in their hands. It should 
have a place in every American library, 
and is among the most valuable books of the 
season. — Baltimore American. 


NEW BOOKS PUBLISHED BY A. HAllT. 


FEDERAL ADMINISTRATIONS. 

MEMOIRS I 

OF THE 

ADMINISTRATIONS OF 

WASHINGTON AND JOHN ADAMS. ; 

EDITED FROM THE PAPERS OF 
OLIVER WOLCOTT, 

SECRETARY OF THE TREASURY. i 

By GEORGE GIBBS. ; 

“ Nullius addictus jurare in verta magistri.” 

[n 2'woVols. Octavo, 1000 Pages, Cloth Gilt, 
Price S5. j 

“Books of this character best illustrate; 
the history of the country. The men who; 
have acted important parts are made tos 
speak for themselves, and appear without ; 
any aid from the partiality of friends, or any ; 
wijury from the detraction of enemies.” — ! 
providence Journal. !; 

“The materials of which these volumes i; 
ire composed are of great value. They! 
jonsist of correspondence, now first given ; 
to the world, of Washington, the elder; 
Adams, Ames, John Marshall, Rufus King,; 
Timothy Pickering, Wolcott, &c. There s 
are thirty-seven original letters from Alex-< 
ander Hamilton, many of them of the highest < 
interest; one in which the writer with keen < 
sagacity and all the splendor of his elo- i 
fjuence, gives a character of Mr. Burr upon | 
which his own fate was destined to put the | 
seal of truth, is read now with singular) 
emotions. Mr. Gibbs has performed his v 
task extremely well. His preface is modest ■ 
and dignified. The passages of narrative 
by which the letters are connected ai-e ac- 
curate, judicious and agreeable; they illus- 
trate, and do not overlay the principal ma^ 
lerial of the work.” — North American. 

“ Here we meet, illustrated in something 
like forty important letters, the blazing intel- 
ligence, the practical sagacity, the heroic 
generosity, the various genius, which have 
made Hamilton the name of statesmanship 
and greatness, rather than the name of a 
man. Here we have the piercing judgment 
of John Marshall, unsusceptible of error, 
whose capacity to see the truth was equalled 
only by his power of compelling others to 
receive it; in the light of whose logic opi- 
nions appeared to assume the nature of; 
facts, and truth acquires the palpableness; 
of a material reality; the bluntness, force; 
and probity of Pickering; the sterling ex-] 
celleiices of Wolcott himself, who had no] 
artifices and no concealments, because his < 
strength was too great to require them, and j 
his purposes too pure to admit them; and j 
sounding as an understrain through the 
whole, the prophet tones of Ames.” — U. S. 
Gazette. 

“An important and valuable addition to 
the historical lore of the country.”— iV. Y. 
Evening Gazette. 

“ We look upon these memoirs as an ex- 
ceedingly valuable contribution to our nu- 
bonal records.”— Y Com. Advertiser. 


PETERS’ DIGEST. 

A FULL AJTD ARRANGED 

DIGEST OF THE DECISIONS 

In Common Law, Equity, and Admiralty 

OF THE COURTS OF THE UNITED STATES, 

From the Organization of the Government i% 
1789 to 1S47 : 

IN THE SUPREME, CIRCUIT, DISTRICT, AND 
ADMIR.U.TY courts; 

Reported in Dallas, Cranch, Wheaton, Peters, 
and Howard’s Supreme Court Reports ; in 
Gallison, Mason, Paine, Peters, Washington, 
Wallace, Sumner, Story, Baldwin, Brocken- 
brough, and McLean’s Circuit Court Re- 
ports; and in Bees, Ware, Peters, and Gil- 
pin’s District and Admiralty Reports. 

BY RICHARD PETERS. 

With an Appendix — containing the Rules 
and Orders of the Supreme Court of the United 
States in Proceedings in Equity, established 
by the Supreme Court. Complete in two 
large octavo volumes, law binding, raised 
bands, at a low price. 


THRILLING INCIDENTS 

OF THE 

WARS OF THE UNITED STATES. 

COMPRISING THE MOST 
STRIKING AND REMARKABLE EVENTS 
OF 

The Revolution, the French War, the 
Tripolitan War, the Indian War, the 
Second War with Great Britain, 
and the Mexican War. 

WITH THREE HUNDRED ENGRAVINGS. 
BY THE AUTHOR OF 

“The Army and Navy of the United States.” 

In One Volume Octavo, 600 Pages, with 300 
illustrations of Battle Scenes, Portraits, 
S^c. S^c. 


MEMOIRS 

OF THE 

QUEENS OF FRANCE. 

By MRS. FORBES BUSH. 

FROM THE SECOND LONDON EDITION. 

In Two Vols. 12mo., tviih Portraits. 

“ Mrs. Forbes Bush is a graceful writer, 
and in the work before us has selected the 
prominent features in the lives of the Queens 
with a great deal of judgment and discrimi- 
nation. These memoirs will be found not 
only peculiarly interesting, but also in- 
structive as throwing considerable light 
upon the manners and customs of past 
ages.”— Western Continent. 


5 


NEW BOOKS PUBLISHED BY A. HART. 
MORFIT’S APPLIED CHEMISTRY. 


A TREATISE UPON CHEMISTRY, 

IN ITS APPLICATION TO THE MANUFACTURE OF 

SOAPS AND CANDLES. 

BEINO A THOROUGH EXPOSITION OF THE PRINCIPLES AND PRACTICE OF THE TRaDI 
IN ALL THEIR MINUTI.®) BASED UPON THE MOST RECENT DISCOVERIES IN 

SCIENCE. 

BY CAMPBELL MORFIT, 

PRACTICAL AND ANALYTICAL CHEMIST. 

Witli 170 Engravings on Wood. 

This work is based upon the most recent discoveries in Science and improvements 
IN Art, and presents a thorough exposition of the principles and practice of the trade in 
all their minuliae. The experience and ability of the author have enabled him to produce 
A MORE complete AND COMPREHENSIVE BOOK upon the subjcct than any extant. The whole 
arrangement is designed with a view to the scientific enlightenment, as well as the in- 
Btrucion of the manufacturer, and its contents are such as to render it not only a stand- 
ard GUIDE BOOK to THE OPERATIVE, but also all authoritative work of reference for the 
Chemist and the Student. 

An examination of the annexed table of contents will show the invaluable usefulness 
of the work, the practical features of which are illustrated by upwards of one hundred 
AND SIXTY engravings ON WOOD. 

Tht following synopsis embraces only the main heads of each Chapter and Paragraph. 

Spermaceti, Delphinine, Neats 
feet Oil. 

[lAP. 17. The Constituents of Fats, their 
Properties and Composition : 
Stearine, Stearic Acid and 
Salts; Margarine, Mar^aric 
Acid and Salts; Olein, Oleic 
Acid and Salts; Cetine, Cetylic 
Acid; Phocenine, Phocenic 
Acid and Salts ; Butyrine, Bu- 
tyric Acid and Salts; Caproic, 
Capric Acid; Hircine, llircic 
Acid; Cholesterine. 

“ 18, Basic Constituents of Fats : — 

Glycerin, Ethal. 

“ 19. Theory of Saponification. 

“ 20. Utensils: — Steam Series, Buga- 

diers or Ley V ats, Soap Frames, 
Caldrons, &c. 

“ 21. The Systemized arrangement for 

a Soap Factory. 

“ 22. Remarks, — Preliminary to the 

Process for Making Soap. 

“ 23. Hard Soaps : — “ Cutting Pro- 

cess;” Comparative Value ol 
Oils and Fats as Soap ingredi- 
ent, with Tables ; White, Mot- 
tled, Marseilles, Yellow, Yan- 
kee Soaps; English Yellow and 
White Soap, Coco Soap, Palm 
Soap, Butter Soap, English 
Windsor Soap, French AVind- 
sor Soap. Analyses of Soaps. 
“ 24. Process for Making Soap : — Pre- 

paration of the Leys, Empa- 
lage, Relargoge, Cociion, Mot- 
tling, Cooling. 

“ 25. Extemporaneous Soaps: — Lard, 

Medicinal, “Hawes,” “Ma 
quer,” and “ Darcel’s” Soaps 
“ 2C. Silicated Soaps: — Flint, Sand, 

“Dunn's,” “ Davis’s"’ ^aps. 


Chap. 

(( 


<( 


it 


1. Introductory Remarks. 

2. The Dignity of the Art and its Re- 

lations to Science. 

3. Affinity and Chemical Equiva- 

lents : — Explanation of. 

4. Alkalies. — Lime, Potassa, Soda, 

Ammonia. 

5. Alkalimetry. 

6 Acids.— Carbonic, Sulphuric, Hy- | 

drochloric. Nitric, Boracic. 
Acidimetry. 

7. Origin and Composition of Fatty 

Matters. 

8. Saponifiable Eats.— Oils of Al- 

mond, Olive, Mustard, Beech, 
Poppy, Rapeseed, Grapeseed ; 
Nut Oil, Linseed Oil, Castor 
Oil, Palm Oil, (processes for 
bleaching it;) Coco Butter, 
Nutmeg Butter, Galura Butter, 
Athamantine. 

9. Adulteration of Oils. 

10. Action of Acids upon Oils. 

11. Volatile Oils. — The Properties of, ; 

and their applicability to the 
Manufacture of Soaps. 

12. Volatile Oils: — Their Origin and 

Composition ; Table of their 
Specific Gravities. 

13. Essential Oils: — The Adultera- 

tions of, and the modes of de- 
tecting them. 

14. Wax: — Its Properties and Com- 

position. 

15. Resins : — Their Properties and 

Composition ; Colophony and 
Gallipot. 

16. Anxmal Fats and Oils;— Lard, 

Mutton Suet, Beef-lallow, Beef- 
marrow, Bone-fat, Soap-grease, 
Oil-lees, Kitchen-stulT, Human- : 
fat, Adipoeir.? ^^'nier. Fish-oil, 


Ci 


NEW BOOKS PUBLISHED BY A. IIABT. 


Chap. 27. 

« 28. 
“ 20 . 

“ 30. 

“ .31. 

“ 32. 

“ 33. 

“ 34. 

“ 35. 


» 36. 

» 37. 

“ 33. 

» 39. 

« 40. 

“ 41. 


Patent Soaps. — Dextrine, Salina- 
ted Soaps, Soap from Hardened 
Fat. 

Anderson''s hnprovements. 

Soft Soaps : — Process for Making, 
Crown Soaps, “Savon Vert.” 

The Conversion of Soft Soaps into 
Hard Soaps. 

Frauds in Soap Making and 
Means for their Detection. 

Earthy Soaps, Marine Soap, Me- 
tallic Soaps. Ammoniacal Soap. 

Soap from Volatile Oils: — Siar- 
ky’s Soap, Action of Alkalies 
upon Essential Oils. 

^‘Savons Acidesf or Oleo-acidu- 
lated Soap. 

Toilet Soaps: — Purification of 
Soaps, Admixed Soap, Cinna- 
mon, Rose, Orange - flower, 
Bouquet, Benzoin, Cologne, 
Vanilla, ftlusk, Naples, Kasan 
Soaps, Flotant Soaps. Trans- 
parent Soaps Soft Soaps, Sha- 
ving Cream; Remarks. 

Areometers and Thermometers : — 
their use and value. 

Weights and Measures. 

Candles. 

Illumination. 

Philosophy of Flame. 

Raw Material for Candles: — 


Chap. 42. 

“ 43. 

“ 44. 

“ 45. 

“ 46. 

“ 47. 

“ 43. 

“ 49. 

“ 50. 

“ 51. 

“ 52. 

« 53. 


Modes of Rendering P'ats, 
“ Wilson’s Steam Tanks. 

Wicks: — Their use and action. 
Cutting Machines. 

Of the Manufacture of Candles. 

Dipped Improved Ma^. 

chinery for facilitating thoir 
Manufacture. 

Material of Candles: — Process 
for Improving its Quality. 

Moulded Candles: — Improved 
Machinery for facilitating their 
Manufacture. — “Vaxeme,” or 
Summer Candles. 

Stearic Acid Candles:— Adamant- 
ine and Star Candles. 

Stearin Candles : — Braconnot’s 
and Morfit’s Process. 

Sperm Candles. 

Falmine, Palm Wax^ Coco Can- 
dles. 

Wax Candles .‘—Mode of Bleach- 
ing the W ax, with drawings of 
the apparatus requisite there- 
for; Bougies, Cierges, Flam- 
beaux. 

Patent Candles : — “ Azotized,” 
Movable Wick and Goddard’s 
Candles ; Candles on Continu- 
ous Wick; Water and Hour 
Bougies, Perfumed Candles. 

Concluding Remarks. Vocabu- 
lary. 


Terms.— The book is handsomely printed, with large type, and on good thick paper, 
in an octavo volume of upwards of five hundred pages, the price of which is $5 per 
copy, neatly bound m cloth gilt, or it will be forwaided by mail free of postage in flexible 
covers, on receiving a remittance of ^5. (A limited number only printed.) 


PEEFUMEHY; 

ITS MANUFACTURE AND USE: 

WITH INSTRUCTIONS IN EVERY BRANCH OF THE ART, AND 
RECIPES FOR ALL THE FASHIONABLE PREPARATIONS. 

THE WHOLE FOHMIJrG A VALUABLE AID TO THE 

Perfumer, Druggist and Soap Manufacturer. 

ILLUSTRATED WITH NUMEROUS WOOD-CUTS 
From tlie Frencli of Celiiart and other late Authorities. 

WITH ADDITIONS AND IMPROVEMENTS 

BY CAMPBELL MORFIT, 

Fractical and Analytical Chemist. 

“ This is a translation from the French of ^ “A very useful work, and one which, we 
Celnart, and other late authorities, with ; think, must become immensely popular. L 
.additions and improvements by Campbell s exposes the whole art and mystery of the 
Morfit. Tons it is a volume of mysteries: manufacture of cosmetics, hair-dyes, po- 
lo lady readers it will doubtless be at once J mades, oils, depilatories, dentifrices, soaps, 
intelligible and interesting, as it professes ^ cachous, Ac., and ena\)\es every man or wo- 
to give instructions i^ every branch of the ! 77ian to be his or her own heautifier, without 
art, and recipes for all fashionable prepara- j recourse to the genius or taste of the per- 
tions. Indeed we should scarcely imagine'/ fumer. It is, indeed, a curious book, and 
that a single cosmetic has been omitted, the Nve have skipped over its pages with a 
list is so extensive”— Y.C'owi Advertiser.' great deal of satisfaction . — .‘Spirit of Times 


The Best Illustrated Works at 50 Cents a Volume 
CAREY & HART’S 

Library of Humorous American Works, 

With Illustrations by Barley. 


Price 50 Cents. {Complete.) < 

THEATRICAL APPRENTICESHIP | 

AND ! 

Anecdotal Recollections i 

OP ; 

SOL. SMITH, Esq. 

COMEDUN, LAWYER, ETC. ETC. \ 

WITH EIGHT ORIGINAL DESIGNS.; 

CONTENTS. ; 

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STREAKS OF SQUATTER LIFE 

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THE DRAMA AT POKERVILLE, 

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A QUARTER RACE IN KENTUCKY, 

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: ODD LEAVES FROM THE LIFE 

OP A 

LOUISIANA “SWAMP DOCTOR." 

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Swamp — The Man of Aristocratic Diseases— 
The Indefatigable Bear-hunter— Love in a 
Garden— How tocureFits— A Struggle forLjfe. 


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WITH A MEMOIR, AND A TRANSLATION 
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BY BASIL MONTAGU, ESQ. 

In Three Volumes, Octavo. 

The American edition of the works of 
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reprinted from the most approved English 
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seventeen octavo volumes. It contains the 
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pher, those in Latin being translated into 
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A. UART’S STAKDARD WORKS. 


THE 



WITH A PURYEY OP THE INTELLECTUAL 

HISTOUI , CONDITION, AND PROSPECTS 
OP THE COUNTRY. 

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SECv-ND EDITION, REVISED. 

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SI Nell) antJ (illjeap Htiilfon 

OF THE HISTORY OF 

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. 

BY M. A. THIERS, 

LATE PRIME MINISTER OF FRANCE. 

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HISTORY OF FRANCE 

from the commencement of the French Re- 
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11 


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I. 

CRITICAL AND WISCELLANEOIIS 

WRITINGS OF 

THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY. 

In One Volume, with a finely engraved 
portrait, from an original picture 
by Henry Inman. Cloth Gilt, 

$2 00 . 

Contents. 

Milton, Machiavelli, Dryden, History, 
Hallam’s Constitutional History', Southey’s 
Colloquies on Society, Moore’s Life of By- 
ron, Southey’s Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, 
Broker’s Boswell’s I.ife of Johnson, Lord 
Nugent’s Memoirs of Hampden, Nare’s Me- 
moirs of Lord Burghley, Dumont’s Recol- 
lectmns of Mirabeau, Lord Mahon’s Warof 
the Succession, Walpole’s Letters to Sir H. 
Maun, ThacKaray’s Historv of Flarl Chat- 
ham. Lord Bacon, Mackmlosn s History of 
the Revolution of England, Sir John Mal- 
colm’s Life of Lord Clive. Life and W ritings 
of S'r W. Temple, Church and Stale, 
12 


i Ranke’s History of the Popes, Cowley and 
s Milton, Mitford’s History of Greece, The 

< Athenian Orators, Comic Dramatists of the 
1 Restoration, Lord Holland, Warren Hast- 
I ings, Frederic the Great, Lays of Ancient 
^ Rome, Madame D’Arblay, Addison, Ba- 

rere’.s Memoirs, Montgomery’s Poems, Civil 
s Disabilities of the Jews, Mill on Govern- 
s ment. Bentham’s Defence of Mill, Utilita- 
: r an Theory of Government, and Earl Chat- 
; ham, second part, <tc. 

!; “It may now be asked by some sapient 
!; critics, Why make all this coil about a mere 

< periodicf I essayist? Of what possible con- 

< cern is it tc anybody, whether Mr. Thomas 
} Babington Macaulay be, or be not, overrun 
? with faults, since he is nothing more than 

> one of the three-day immortals who contri- 

> bute flashy and ‘ taking’ articles to a Quar- 
5 terly Review ? What great work has he 
s written ? Such questions as these might be 

< put by the same men who place the Speeta- 

< tor, Tattler and Ramb.'er among the British 

< classics, yet judge of the size of a cotempo- 

> rarv’s mind by that of his book, and who 
5 can naroiy recognize amnlitude of compre- 
5 hension, unless it be spread over the six 
5 hundred pages of octavos iud quartos. — 


A. HART’S STANDARI/ WORKS. 


Such men would place Bancroft above Web- ’ 
ster, and Sparks above Calhoun, Adams and c 
Everett— deny a posterity for Bryant’s Tha- > 
natopsis, and predict longevity to Pollok’s > 
Course of Time. It is singular that the $a- 5 
gacity which can detect thought only in a S 
state of dilution, is not sadly graveled when s 
it thinks of the sententious aphorisms which t 
have survived whole libraries of folios, and < 
the little songs which have outrun, in the < 
race of fame, so many enormous epics. — | 
While it can easily be demonstrated that ? 
Macaulay’s writings contain a hundred-fold ; 
more matter and thought, than an equal > 
number of volumes taken from what are 5 
called, par eminence, the ‘ British Essay- | 
Ists,’ it is not broaching any literary heresy | 
to piedict, that they will sail as far down | 
the stream of time, as those eminent mem- | 
bers of tlie illustrious family of British clas- t 
tics.” > 

THE CRITICAL AND MISCELLANEOUS 

WRITINGS OF 

ARCHIBALD ALISON, 

ATITHOR OF “ THE HISTORY OF EUROPE,” < 

In One Volume, 8vo. with a portrait. \ 
Price SI 25. ^ 

CONTENTS. 

Chateaubriand, Napoleon, Bossuet, Po- < 
land, Madame de Stael, National Monu- ^ 
ments, Marshal Ney, Robert Bruce, Paris \ 
in 1814, The Louvre in 1814, Tyrol. France ^ 
in 1833, Italy, Scott, Campbell and Byron, j 
Schools of Design, Lamartine, The Copy- > 
light Question, Michelet’s France, Military I 
■^reason and Civic Soldiers, Arnold’s Rome, s 
jWirabeau, Bulwer’s Athens, The Reign of < 
Terror, The French Revolution of 1830, < 
The Fall of Turkey, The Spanish Revolu- < 
tion of 1820, Karamsin’s Russia, Effects of < 
the French Revolution of 1830, Desertion of ? 
Portugal, Wellington, Carlist Struggle in > 
Spain, The Affghanistan Expedition, The 5 

Future, &c. &c. 5 

III. I 

S’STDZffX!'^ SZmTH. 

THE WORKS OF THE 

REV. SYDNEY SMITH. 

Fine Edition. In One Volume, with a ? 
portrait. Price $1 00. ? 

“ Almost every thing he has written is so < 
characteristic that it would be difficult to < 
attribute it to any other man. The marked < 
individual features and the rare combina- j 
tion of power displayed in his works, give ? 
them a fascination unconnected with the ? 
subject of which he treats or the general cor- > 
rectness of his views. He sometimes hits 5 
the mark in the white, he sometimes misses i 
It altogether, for he by no means confines < 
his pen to theories to which he is calculated < 
to do justice; but whether he hits or misses, t 
he is alway's sparkling and delightful. The ? 
charm of his writings is somewhat similar ? 
to that of Montaigne or Charles Lamb ” — > 
North American Review, ^ 


IV. 

wzziSon. 

THE RECREATIONS OF 

CHRISTOPHER NORTH. 

In One Volume 8vo., first American Edition 
with a Portrait. Price Si' 00. 

CONTENTS. 

Christopher in his Sporting Jacket— A 
Tale of Expiation — Morning JNIonologue — 
The Field of Flowers — Cottages— An Hour’s 
Talk about Poetry — Inch Cruin— A Day a* 
Windermere— The Moors — Highland Snow- 
Storm — The Holy Child— Our Parish — May- 
day' — Sacred Poetry— Christopher in his 
Aviary — Dr. Kitchiner — Soliloquy on the 
Seasons — A Few Words on Thomson — 
The Snowball Bicker of Piedmont — Christ- 
mas Dreams — Our Winter Quarters — Strol' 
to Grafsmere — L’Envoy. 

Extract from HowiWs “ Rural Life?'' 

“ And not less for that wonderful series 
of articles by Wilson, in Blackwood’s 
Magazine— fa tAeiV /ftnri as truly amazing 
and as truly glorious as the romances ^ 
Scott or the poetry of Wordsworth. Far and 
wide and much as these papers have been 
admired, wherever the English language is 
read, I still question whether any one man 
has a just idea of them as a whole.” 

V. 

Carlyle’s Miscellanies. 
CRITICAL ANdIiISCELLANEOLS 

ESSAYS OF 

THOMAS CARLYLE. 

In one 8vo. volume, loith a Portrait. 

Price $1 75. 

CONTENTS. 

Jean Paul Friedrich Richter — State of 
German Literature — Werner — Goethe’s 
Helena — Goethe— Burns— Hey ne— German 
Playwrights— Voltaire— Novalis— Signs of 
the Times — Jean Paul Friedrich Richter 
again— On History— Schiller— The Nibel- 
lungen Lied — Early German Literature — 
Taylor’s Historic Survey of German Poetry 
— Characteristics— Johnson- Death of Go- 
ethe — Goethe’s Works — Diderot— On His- 
tory again— Count Cagliostro— Corn Law 
Rhymes— The Diamond Necklace— Mira 
beau— French Parliamentary History — 
W alter Scott, &c. &c. 

VI. 

TALPOUBD & STEPHEN. 
THE CRITICAL WRITINGS 

OF 

T. NOON TALFOURD 

AND 

JAMES STEPHEN 

WITH A FINELY ENGRAVED PORTRAIT. 

In One Volume, 8vo. Price SI 25. 

13 


A. HART’S STANDARD WORKS, 


Contents of “ Talfourd,^^ 

Essays on British Novels and Romances, 
mtroductory to a series of Criticisms oh the 
Living Novelists— Mackenzie, The Author 
of W averley, Godwin, Maturin, Rymer on 
Tragedy, Colley Cibber’s Apology for his 
Life, John Dennis’s Works, Modern Pe- 
riodical Literature, On the Genius and 
Writings of Wordsworth, North’s Life of 
Lord Guilford, Hazlitt’s Lectures on the 
Drama, Wallace’s Prospects of Mankind, 
Nature and Providence, On Pulpit Ora- 
tory, Recollections of Lisbon, Lloyd's 
Poems, Mr Oldaker on Modern Improve- 
ments, A Chapter on Time, On the Profes- 
sion of the Bar, The Wine Cellar, Destruc- 
tion of the Brunswick Theatre by Fire, 
First Appearance of Miss Fanny Kemble, 
On the Intellectual Character of the late 
Win. Hazlitt. 

Contents of << Stephen,’* 

Life of Wilberforce, Life of Whitfield and 
Froude, D’ Aubigne’s Reformation, Life and 
Times of Baxter, Physical Theory of Ano- 
ther Life, The Port Royalists, Ignatius Loy- 
ola, Taylor’s Edwin the Fair. 

“ His (Talfourd’s) Critical writings mani- 
fest on every page a sincere, earnest and 
sympathizing love of intellectual excel- 
lence and moral beauty. The kindliness 
of temper and tenderness of sentiment with 
which they are animated, are continually 
suggesting pleasant thoughts of the author.” 
’-North American Review. 

VII. 

LORD JEFFREY. 

THE CRITICAL WRITINGS 

OF 

FRANCIS LORD JEFFREY. | 

In One Volume 8i'o., with a Portrait. i 

From a very able article in the North ; 
British Review we extract the following: ; 

“ It is a book not to be read only— but 
studied- it is a vast repository; or rather 
a system or institute, embracing the whole 
circle of letters — if we except the exact 
sciences— and contains within itself, notin 
a desultory form, but in a well digested 
scheme, more original conceptions, bold 
and fearless speculation and just reasoning 
on all kinds and varieties of subjects than 
are to be found in any English writer with 
whom we are acquainted within the pre- 
sent or the last generation. * * ♦ His 
choice of words is unbounded and his feli- 
city of expression, to the most impalpable 
shade of discrimination, almost miraculous. 
Playfu., lively, and full of illustration, no 
subject is so dull or so dry that he cannot 
invest it with interest, and none so trifling 
that it cannot acquire dignity or elegance 
from his pencil. Independently however, 
of mere style, and apart from the great 
variety of subjects embraced by his pen, 
the distinguishing feature of his writings, 
and that in which he excels his coternpo- 
rary reviewers, is the deep vein of practical 
thought which funs throughout them all » 


VHI 

SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH. 

SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH’S 
CONTRISUTIONS TO THE EDIN- 
BURGH REVIEW. 

Collected and Edited by his Son, 

In One Volume 8vo., with a Portrait, $1 75. 


THE POEMS 

OP 

FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD. 

Illustralfli i )2 11)^ tjcjst artists. 

hi one volume octavo, uniform with Carey dt 
Hart's illustrated Bryant, WUlis, dc. 

The following exquisitely finished line en- 
gravings are from original designs, by our 
most celebrated painters, and are executed in 
the highest style of art : — Portrait of the Au- 
thoress; Hope; A Child playing with a 
Watch; The Reaper; Ida; Old Friends; The 
Child’s Portrait; Little Red Riding Hood; 
The Life Boat; Twilight Hours; The Arab 
and his Steed ; Zuleika. 

“ There is nothing mechanical about her ; 
all is buoyant, overflowing, irrepressible vi- 
vacity, like the bubbling up of a natural 
fountain. In her almost childish ple.yful 
ness, she reminds us of that exquisite crea- 
tion of Fouque, Undine, who knew no law 
but that of her own waywardness. The great 
charm of h,.r poetry is its unaffected simpli- 
city. It is the transparent simplicity T truth, 
reflecting the feeling of the mon. mt like a 
mirror.” — Rev. Dr. Davidson. 

“ In all the poems of Mrs. Osgood, we find 
occasion to admire the author as well as ihe 
works. Her spontaneous and instinctive elfu- 
sions appear, in a higher degree than any 
others in our literature, to combine the rarest 
and highest capacities in art with the sincerest 
and deepest sentiments and the noblest aspi- 
rations. They would convince us, if the 
beauty of her life were otherwise unknown, 
that Mrs. Osgood is one of the loveliest cha- 
racters in the histories of literature or so- 
ciety .” — Pennsylvania Inquirer and Courier. 

“ The position of Mrs. Osgood, as a graceful 
and womanly poetess, is fixed, and will be 
enduring. To taste of faultless delicacy, a 
remarkable command of poetical language, 
great variety of cadence, and a most musical 
versification, she has added recently the high- 
est qualities of inspiration, imagination, and 
passion, in a degree rarely equalled in the 
productions of women. . . . The reputation 
which Mrs. Osgood enjoys, as one of the most 
amiable, true-hearted, and brilliant ladies in 
American society, will add to the good for- 
tune of a book, the intrinsic excellence and 
beauty of which will secure for it a place 
among the standard creations of female ge* 

H niirg ” — Home Journal. 
















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